. 


University  of  California  •  Berkeley 

THE  PETER  AND  ROSELL  HARVEY 
MEMORIAL  FUND 


MONTEREY, 


AND     OTHER     POEMS. 


MONTEREY, 


OTHER      POEMS, 


FRANCES  JANE  CROSBY, 


A    PUPIL    AT    THE 


NEW    YORK    INSTITUTION    FOR    THE    BLIND. 


"  A»  the  wakeful  bird 

Sings  darkling,  and  in  shadiest  covert  bid 
Tunes  her  nocturnal  note." 

MILTON. 


NEW    YORK: 
R.   CRAIGHEAD,   112   FULTON   STREET. 

MPCC  CLI . 


PREFACE. 


IT  is  nearly  seven  years,  since,  at  the  instance  of  partial 
and  dear  friends,  I  was  led  to  present  myself  before  the 
public  as  an  authoress,  aiming  at  poetic  strains. 

It  was  with* feelings  of  deep  agitation  that  I  first  realized 
my  new  position,  when,  with  a  volume  of  my  own  poems, 
I  presented  a  dedication  copy  to  the  Managers  of  the  noble 
Institution  of  which  I  am  an  eltve,  and  to  which  I  am 
indebted  for  that  culture,  as  set  forth  in  the  preface  to  that 
edition,  which  educed  the  mind  and  trained  the  thoughts 
that  were  there  embodied.  The  favor  with  which  that  pub- 
lication was  received,  and  the  warrant  of  the  same  kind 
friends,  lead  me  once  more  to  present  my  claims  for  public 
patronage. 

During  the  interval,  the  love  of  contemplation,  and  the 
emission  of  thoughts  pictured  in  harmonious  words,  has 
given  birth  to  many  pieces,  which  those  friends, 

"  Whose  judgment  I  esteem 
Superior  to  my  own," 

advise  should  be  embodied  in  another  edition. 


VI  PREFACE. 

With  health  sadly  impaired,  and  a  consequent  frequent 
inability  to  discharge  those  duties  from  which  I  have  hitherto 
derived  a  maintenance,  the  pecuniary  emolument  there  may 
arise  from  the  sale  of  the  work,  will  be  acceptable  as  it  will 
be  appreciated ;  and  the  Blind  Girl's  declining  years  be 
thereby  rendered  unclouded  by  that  dependency  so  repulsive 
to  a  mind  ever  active,  and  a  hand,  when  not  enervated  by 
disease,  ever  assiduous  for  her  self-support. 


CONTENTS, 


Page 

MONTEREY 1 

Time  Chronicled  in  a  Skull 19 

The  Indian  Mother  and  her  Child 21 

The  Blind  Harper 22 

The  Misanthrope 26 

On  the  Wreck  of  the  Swallow 29 

Speak  not  Harshly 32 

Morning 34 

Oh !  Turn  not  from  the  Weeping  One 35 

"Hope  On,  Hope  Ever" 37 

The  Dying  Daughter 38 

A  Visit  to  a  Fixed  Star 40 

Lines  to  my  Mother  on  my  Birthday 43 

To  a  Brother  going  to  California 45 

Address  delivered  at  an  Exhibition  at  Brooklyn 46 

Let  me  Die  on  the  Prairie 48 

Lines  on  the  Death  of  Major  Ringgold 49 

Lines  on  the  Death  of  Col.  Clay 51 

A  Physician's  Thoughts 52 

Address  before  Congress 58 

Appeal  for  Erin  in  her  Distress 61 

To  Miss  W.  on  her  Birthday 62 

The  Hindoo  Mother 64 

Weep  not  for  the  Dead 65 


Viii  CONTENTS. 

Fa9t 

"  Peace,  Be  Still ". 67 

Voice  of  the  Twilight  Hour 68 

The  Vale  of  L 70 

The  Indian's  Reply 71 

Ode  to  General  Taylor 72 

Spring 73 

Friendship's  Offering 74 

The  Hunter's  Home 75 

On  the  Receipt  of  a  Lock  of  my  Brother's  Hair 76 

The  Dead  Child 78 

The  Rover 79 

The  Violet  of  the  West 81 

Reflections  of  a  Murderer 82 

Suspicion 86 

Come  to  thy  Forest  Home 88 

Lines  on  the  Birthday  of  Washington 89 

The  Captive  Bird  to  its  Captor 90 

To  H.  M.  Esq 91 

To  a  Friend 93 

Address  to  a  Friend  at  the  Opening  of  the  Year 94 

Lines  for  an  Album 97 

Farewell  of  the  Flower  Spirit 98 

Lines  to  General  Scott 99 

My  Prairie  Flowers 101 

On  Hearing  a  Description  of  a  Prairie 102 

Henry  Clay 104 

To  the  Portrait  of  a  Friend 106 

A  Colloquy 108 

New  Haven Ill 

Lines  written  on  Independence  Day 113 

A  Revery 1 15 

Prayer 116 

To  Annie 119 

A  Vision 120 

Sabbath  Evening 122 

Lines  on  the  Death  of  General  Taylor 123 


CONTENTS.  IX 

Page 

The  Neglected  Flageolet 126 

Serenade ]27 

Voice  of  the  Flowers 128 

The  Blind  Girl 130 

A  Brother's  Wish 137 

The  Broken-Hearted 139 

The  Past 142 

Thoughts  in  Midnight  Hours 143 

To  the  Spirit  of  my  Lost  Friend 147 

To  Matilda 148 

The  Stranger's  Grave 149 

On  a  Child  Kneeling 151 

To  J.P.  W 152 

One  Scene  in  a  Storm 154 

The  Presumptuous  Mouse 155 

The  Songs  of  Other  Days 157 

The  Bandit's  Bride 159 

The  Pilgrim  and  the  Angel 160 

To  Alice 161 

To  J.  K.  W 163 

The  Floating  Bethel 164 

Lines  on  the  Funeral  Procession  of  General  Taylor 167 

Farewell  Lines  to  a  Friend  lately  Married 169 

To  Kate 171 

To  Cynthia 172 

Come  Home 173 

To  a  Friend 174 

ToaFriend,  on  the  Death  of  an  Only  Child 176 

To  J.  W.  G.  C.,  on  the  Death  of  his  Infant  Son 177 

An  Address,  composed  while  on  a  Tour  through  the  Interior  of  the 

State  of  New  York 179 

An  Address,  recited  while  on  a  Tour  through  the  Western  Part  of 

the  State  of  New  York 181 

An  Address  delivered  by  Frances  Jane  Crosby 184 

"Shall  I  Meet  Thee  Again  ?" 186 

The  Blind  Girl's  Song 187 


X  CONTENTS. 

1'aije 

Psalm  iv.8 188 

To  a  Friend  and  Fellow  Pupil • 189 

Easter  Sunday 190 

Impromptu 192 

The  Wish 194 

To  Jenny  Lind 195 

Rise  and  Progress  of  the  Institution  for  the  Blind 197 


MONTEREY. 


CANTO       I. 
DEDICATED   TO   H.    M.,   ESQ. 

COME,  faithful  memory  of  long  vanished  years, 

And  kindly  lead  me  to  the  quiet  shade 
Where  lives  the  past,  its  sunshine  and  its  tears, 

And  gushing  fountains  murmur  through  the  glade. 
There  oft  in  childhood  have  I  careless  strayed, 

When  hope's  young  blossoms  seemed  to  bloom  for  me ; 
And  while  their  leaves — just  op'ning — I  surveyed, 

How  would  my  bosom  thrill  with  ecstasy, 
My  Friend,  to  know  thee  near — thy  smiling  glance  to  see ! 

By  thee  approved,  I  asked,  I  wished  no  more  ; — 
Through  mazes  dark  thy  cheering  voice  hath  led  ; 

Thou  wert  my  guide  o'er  paths  untrod  before, 
Again  I  venture  in  those  paths  to  tiead  : 
1 


2  MONTEREY. 

The  Muse  of  Song  her  wings  hath  o'er  me  spread ; 

My  lute,  impatient,  waits  its  notes  to  swell : 
Departing  day's  last  hour  will  soon  have  sped — 
The  hour  in  which  I  love  on  absent  ones  to  dwell. 

Wilt  thou  accept,  my  friend  for  ever  dear, 

The  little  volume  which  to  thee  I  bring  ? 
This  humble  pledge  of  gratitude  sincere 

Is  Friendship's  purest,  holiest  offering. 
My  harp  for  thee  would  tune  its  sweetest  string, 

And  yet  its  tones — how  tremulous  and  weak  ! 
These  lips,  alas  !  in  vain  presume  to  sing : 

There  are  emotions  words  may  never  speak  ; 
They  flow  but  in  the  tear  that  silent  wets  the  cheek. 


'TWAS  night :  the  conqueror's  work  was  done, 

His  victor  garland  proudly  won  ; 

And  on  the  crimson  battle-plain, 

Were  strewn  the  wounded  and  the  slain. 

The  clash  of  arms  was  heard  no  more, 

And  hushed  the  cannon's  pealing  roar : 

His  weary  watch  the  sentry  kept, 

While  in  his  tent  the  hero  slept. 

0  Monterey  !  the  morning  light 


MONTEREY. 

Beheld  thee  towering  in  thy  might : 

The  crest  hath  fallen  from  thy  brow, 

And  what  avails  thy  splendor  now  ? 

Thy  palaces  with  pomp  arrayed, 

At  eve  a  mould'ring  pile  were  laid. 

Mark  where  thy  vanquished  sons  have  bled — 

Yet  weep  not  o'er  their  blood-stained  bed — 

Weep  for  the  living,  not  the  dead. 

The  moon,  with  pale  and  sickly  beam, 

Looked  down  upon  the  carnage  seen  : 

The  breeze  in  fitful  moans  was  heard, 

And  loudly  shrieked  the  carrion  bird, 

As  if  exulting  o'er  its  prey 

On  the  red  field  of  Monterey. 

Now  tolled  the  solemn  midnight  bell, 

To  many  a  soul  a  parting  knell : 

The  warrior  started  at  the  sound  ; — 

His  war-stained  sword  was  quickly  drawn, 

As  if  the  foeinan's  blast  had  blown  ; 

Then  all  was  silence,  deep,  profound. 

Who  hath  not  seen  the  threatening  cloud 

Come  like  a  black  and  dismal  shroud  ? — 

The  warring  elements  contend, 

As  if  in  wrath  the  sky  to  rend. 

Who  hath  not  watched  the  lightning's  flash, 

And  heard  the  mighty  thunder's  crash  ? 


MONTEREY. 

The  nodding  pine,  the  giant  oak, 
Must  fell  beneath  its  fearful  stroke. 
Thus,  when  in  battle  stern  arrayed, 
Fierce  gleams  the  warrior's  deadly  blade, 
That  weapon,  by  a  single  blow, 
May  lay  the  bravest  hero  low. 
O !  who  could  pass  unheeded  by 
Th*  encumbered  field  where  thousands  lie 
Or  who  the  falling  tear  would  stay, 
By  Pity  dropped  o'er  Monterey  ? 
How  many  a  youth,  of  talents  rare, 
Hath  in  a  moment  perished  there  ! 
And  he  who  sought  a  deathless  name 
Hears  not  the  echo  of  his  fame  ; 
His  heart,  with  high  emotions  filled, 
Hath  ceased  to  beat,  each  pulse  is  stilled. 
The  faithful  son  of  Mexico 
That  fell  beneath  Columbia's  blow, 
Lies  pale  beside  his  dreaded  foe. 
Their  glazing  eyes  malignant  met, 
Ere  the  last  ray  of  life  had  set ; 
They  hated  till  their  feeble  breath 
Was  stifled  by  the  hand  of  death. 


MONTEREY. 


CANTO       II. 


DEDICATED   TO    J.    W.    G.    C. 


O  COULD  I  snatch  from  the  chill  blight  of  time 
One  little  flower  that  in  thy  path  might  bloom, 

Alas  !  the  fairest  wreaths  that  mortals  twine 
Bear  the  sad  impress  of  an  early  tomb. 

Oh !  how  we  love,  in  solitude  unbroken, 
To  linger  on  some  well  remembered  voice, 

That  to  the  heart  one  soothing  word  hath  spoken, 
When  grief  oppressing,  robbed  it  of  its  joys. 

Can  I  forget  how  close  thine  anxious  ear 

Hath  bent  to  catch  the  sufferer's  faintest  sigh  ? 

Can  I  forget  how  oft  the  gathering  tear 
Hath  trembled  in  thy  mild  expressive  eye  ? 

This  harp  perchance  may  lose  its  charms  for  thee, 
Its  strings  may  broken  and  neglected  be, 

Yet  till  the  torch  of  feeling  cease  to  burn 
Thy  name  shall  live  in  memory's  sacred  urn. 


6  MONTEREY. 

Farewell !  yet  stay,  there  is  a  simple  flower, 

That  I  have  gathered  from  earth's  greenest  spot ; 

Tt  long  hath  blossomed  in  affection's  bower, 
Then  take  it — 'tis  the  sweet  Forget-me-not. 


ON  the  green  margin  of  a  rill, 

Whose  crystal  waters  calm  and  still, 

Meandering  through  a  valley  fair, 

Were  lost  in  quiet  murmurs  there, 

A  cottage  stood,  half  hid  from  view 

By  the  tall  trees  that  'round  it  grew. 

In  years  gone  by  beneath  their  shade 

A  brother  and  a  sister  played — 

Their  widowed  mother's  only  joy. 

She  looked  upon  her  darling  boy, 

Then  closer  to  her  bosom  pressed 

Her  precious  charge,  and  wept,  and  blessed, 

And  prayed  that  heaven  would  deign  to  spare 

The  objects  of  her  tender  care  ; — 

That  their  young  hearts  might  never  know 

The  sorrow  she  had  known — the  woe. 

Oh !  if  our  sun  shone  ever  bright — 

We  knew  not  of  affliction's  night — 

If  cankering  thorns  were  never  strown, 


MONTEREY. 

But  blossoms  decked  our  path  alone  ; 

If  hearts  were  ever  fond  and  true, 

And  friendship's  smiles  no  changes  knew  ; 

Too  much  our  thoughts  were  centred  here, 

'Mid  scenes  so  lovely  and  so  dear. 

'Twas  spring — the  winter's  storms  were  o'er ; 

That  mother's  heart  was  glad  once  more  ; 

For  they  who  in  her  arms  once  sleptt 

And  o'er  whose  cradle  she  had  wept, 

Now  to  maturer  years  had  grown  ; — 

She  felt  that  she  was  not  alone — 

Yet  there  were  moments  when  the  past 

A  shadow  o'er  her  spirit  cast. 

Oh  !  chide  her  not  if  memory's  tear 

Would  sometimes  tremble  in  her  eye  ; 

And  thoughts  of  one  she  held  most  dear 

Awoke  too  oft  the  unbidden  sigh. 

And  though  affection  gently  strove 

To  smoothe  for  her  each  rugged  spot, 

The  depths  of  grief  'twas  hers  to  prove, 

A  grief  that  could  not  be  forgot. 

"  Dear  mother,"  Edward  oft  would  say, 

"  What  can  we  do  to  chase  away 

The  gloom  that  on  thy  brow  I  see  ? 

It  grieves  poor  Isabel  and  me. 

Think  not  thy  happy  days  are  o'er  ; — 


MONTEREY. 

No,  dearest  mother  !  smile  once  more. 
Thy  comfort  still  our  care  shall  be, 
Thou  liv'st  for  us  and  we  for  thee." 
'Twas  eve,  and  from  that  vine-clad  cot 
Young  Edward  to  a  favorite  spot 
Had  wandered  forth  to  gather  there 
A  chaplet  for  his  sister's  hair  ; — 
The  task  complete,  he  turned  away, 
And  homeward  bent  his  steps  again. 
As  near  a  wood  he  chanced  to  stray, 
He  caught  the  echo  of  a  lay, 
And  wondered  whence  the  music  came. 
Ah  !  would  that  he  had  never  known 
The  voice  that  breathed  that  thrilling  tone ! 
For  if  his  lips  no  vow  had  spoken 
A  trusting  heart  had  not  been  broken. 
He  wandered  to  that  grove  once  more, — 
Heard  the  sweet  echo  as  before, 
And  the  soft  glance  of  Lucy's  eye 
First  taught  his  youthful  heart  to  sigh. 
They  met,  they  parted,  met  again  ; — 
To  them  that  lone  retreat  became 
A  hallowed  place  ;  they  loved  its  shade, 
Where  balmy  zephyrs  nightly  played, 
And  Nature's  dewy  tears  were  wept 
O'er  flowers  that  in  this  shadow  slept 


MONTEREY. 

Unmindful  of  each  busy  care, 
The  moments  flew  unheeded  there  ; 
Or  lost  in  a  delicious  dream, 
The  longest  hours  but  moments  seem. 
For  there  affection's  smiles  were  shed, 
And  time  passed  by  with  softest  tread. 
One  lovely  morn  by  Edward's  side 
The  blushing  Lucy  stood  his  bride, 
And  from  her  lips  the  solemn  word 
By  many  an  anxious  ear  was  heard ; — 
For  ever  his !  till  death  should  part 
The  links  that  bound  them  heart  to  heart. 
Now  fervently  the  humble  prayer 
Ascended  to  the  throne  of  God, 
That  he  would  bless  the  youthful  pair, 
And  guard  from  ill  the  path  they  trod. 
In  that  brief  moment  who  can  tell 
The  thoughts  of  gentle  Isabel  ? 
For  oh  !  she  never  felt  till  then 
How  dear  to  her  had  Edward  been. 
And  should  he  err,  would  Lucy  chide, 
Or  strive  like  her  his  faults  to  hide  ? — 
Would  Lucy's  heart  for  him  alone 
Beat  ever  warmly  like  her  own  ? 
How  oft  is  friendship  but  a  name ! 
A  look,  a  word,  may  break  its  chain  ; 
1* 


10  MONTEREY. 

Still  'round  some  kindred  heart  we  twine 

As  clings  the  ivy  to  the  vine  ; 

A  brother's  heart  may  faithless  prove, 

But  naught  can  crush  a  sister's  love. 

Whate'er  a  brother's  faults  may  be 

A  faithful  monitor  is  she  ; — 

Though  steeped  in  guilt  that  brother's  name, 

She  weeps,  and  loves  him  still  the  same ; 

And  from  the  world's  cold  glance  conceals 

The  pangs  her  aching  bosom  feels. 


MONTEREY.  11 


CANTO    III. 


DEDICATED   TO    J.    F.    C. 


FAR,  far  on  the  pinions  of  fancy  I  strayed, 
To  a  land  where  the  Muses  their  bowers  had  made  ; 
Where  the  harp  of  affection  for  ever  is  heard, 
As  it  blends  with  the  notes  of  the  Paradise  bird. 

How  swift  was  my  flight  to  that  region  so  fair, 
No  cloud  dimmed  the  sunshine,  no  sorrow  was  there 
I  looked  on  a  flower  which  a  dewdrop  impearled  ; 
Its  leaves  by  the  breath  of  a  zephyr  were  curled. 

A  voice  gently  said,  "  wouldst  thou  bear  it  to  Earth, 
This  amaranth  blossom  of  Heavenly  birth  ? 
Then  go,  but  remember,  wherever  thou  art, 
This  innocent  flower  hath  its  home  in  the  heart." 

I  eagerly  seized  it : — on  wings  light  and  free 
I  hastened  to  bear  it  in  beauty  to  thee. 
Dear  friend,  it  is  thine  ;  and  wherever  thou  art, 
May  it  bloom  as  it  now  does — fresh  in  thy  heart. 


12  MONTEREY . 

OH  !  man,  by  nature  formed  to  reign 

Lord  of  Creation's  wide  domain  ! 

Why  should  ambition's  mad  control 

The  nobler  feelings  of  thy  soul 

Hold  captive — like  a  tyrant's  chain  ? 

Yes,  thou  the  battle-field  wouldst  tread 

In  search  of  what  ? — A  wreath  of  fame 

To  deck  thy  grave  when  thou  art  dead ! 

Kind  reader,  wouldst  thou  trace  with  me 

Our  hero's  mournful  destiny  ? 

For  truth  demands  I  must  unfold 

A  tale  I  fain  would  leave  untold. 

Hark  !  'tis  the  fearful  voice  of  war 

Now  calls  Columbia's  sons  from  far  ! 

A  Nation's  wrongs  for  vengance  call — 

The  haughty  Mexican  must  fall. 

That  voice  on  Edward's  ear  hath  broke, 

And  in  his  restless  soul  awoke 

A  stern  resolve,  whose  strength  and  power 

Grew  firmer  with  each  passing  hour. 

"  'Tis  done,"  he  cries.     "  My  home,  farewell ! 

I  go  my  country's  foes  to  quell ; — 

And  if  the  hand  of  fate  hath  sealed 

My  doom  upon  the  battle-field, 

I'll  meet  it  with  a  spirit  brave ! 

Yes,  mine  shall  be  the  warrior's  grave  ! 


MONTEREY. 

I  dread — and  yet  I  scarce  know  why — 
To  meet  the  glance  of  Lucy's  eye ; 
She'll  not  reproach  me,  but  her  heart 
Will  writhe  beneath  the  cruel  smart 
My  words  inflict ;  how  can  I  bear 
To  see  her  look  of  mute  despair  ? 
My  mother  and  my  sister  too — 
Can  I  those  sacred  ties  undo  ? 
Ties  that  are  dear  as  life  to  me ! 
Away  these  thoughts — it  must  not  be  : 
No,  no,  they  shall  not  rend  my  heart, 
Or  I  would  play  the  coward's  part. 
Now  let  my  task  be  quickly  done, 
A  task  I  would,  but  cannot  shun ; 
This  secret  I  must  now  reveal, 
'Twere  madness  longer  to  conceal ! " 
Reader,  if  thou  hast  ever  known 
The  pangs  a  parting  moment  brings ; 
If  thou  hast  heard  the  last  sad  tone 
Die  on  affection's  broken  strings — 
Let  fancy  to  thy  mind  convey 
A  scene  no  language  can  portray  ; 
And  if  a  tear  should  stain  thy  cheek, 
Think  not  the  world  will  deem  thee  weak. 
Now  dawns  the  morn — its  cheerful  light 
But  mocks  the  gloom  of  sorrow's  night. 


13 


14  MONTEREY. 

It  brings  no  joy  to  those  who  weep — 
The  night  had  brought  no  gentle  sleep  : 
They  feel  yet  deeper  than  before, 
That  the  last  ray  of  hope  is  o'er. 
There  was  no  tear  in  Lucy's  eye, 

For  grief,  alas  !  that  fount  had  sealed ; 
She  spoke  not,  but  a  stifled  sigh 

The  anguish  of  her  heart  revealed. 
One  fond  embrace,  one  last  farewell 
From  the  pale  lips  of  Isabel ; 
A  mother's  blessing  on  her  child — 
He  heard,  and  though  he  faintly  smiled, 
'Twas  forced  :  his  heart  was  breaking  then, 

He  felt  they  ne'er  should  meet  again. 
******* 

Behold  him  where  the  dismal  cry 

Of  strife  and  battle  rend  the  sky ; 

And  as  the  rival  troops  advance, 

He  marks  his  General's  steady  glance, 

And  feels  that  hero's  eye  of  fire 

With  energy  his  soul  inspire. 

But  see  !  he  falls !  a  fatal  blow 

Hath  in  a  moment  laid  him  low. 

He  gasps  ! — the  life-blood  streaming  fast 

Tells  that  this  struggle  is  his  last. 

Quick  from  the  field  his  form  they  bore, 


MONTEREY.  15 

And  all  their  comrade's  fate  deplore ; 

And  o'er  that  youthful  soldier's  bier 

E'en  Taylor  bent  and  dropped  a  tear. 

But  when  the  tidings  reached  his  cot, 

His  gentle  Lucy  heard  them  not ; 

For  she  had  passed  from  earth  away, 

And  with  his  aged  mother  lay, 

Beneath  an  oak  tree's  quiet  shade, 

Where  once  a  happy  child  he  played. 

And  Isabel  alone  was  left — 

Of  every  kindred  tie  bereft. 

And  oft  her  wandering  thoughts  would  stray 

To  him  who  fell  at  Monterey ; 

Till  death  her  spirit  hushed  to  peace, 

And  bade  the  orphan's  sorrows  cease. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


TIME       CHRONICLED       IN       A       SKULL.* 

Wnr  should  I  fear  it  ?     Once  the  pulse  of  life 
Throbbed  in  these  temples,  pale  and  bloodless  now. 
Here  reason  sat  enthroned,  its  empire  held 
O'er  infant  thought  and  thought  to  action  grown : 
A  flashing  eye  in  varying  glances  told 
The  secret  workings  of  immortal  mind. 
The  vital  spark  hath  fled,  and  hope,  and  love, 
And  hatred — all  are  buried  in  the  dust ; 
Forgotten,  like  the  cold  and  senseless  clay 
That  lies  before  me :  such  is  human  life. 
Mortals,  behold  and  read  your  destiny  ! 
Faithful  chronometer,  which  now  I  place 

*  A  skull  was  once  put  into  my  hand  in  which  I  placed 
watch. 


20  MISCELLANEOUS. 

Within  this  cavity,  with  faltering  hand, 

Tell  me  how  swift  the  passing  moments  fly  ! 

I  hear  thy  voice,  and  tremble  as  I  hear  ; — 

For  time  and  death  are  blended — awful  thought  I 

Death  claims  his  victim.     Time,  that  once  was  his, 

Bearing  him  onward  with  resistless  power, 

Must  in  a  vast  eternity  be  lost. 

Eternity  !  duration  infinite  ! 

Ages  on  ages  roll  unnumbered  there ; 

From  star  to  star  the  soul  enraptured  flies, 

Drinking  new  beauties,  transports  ever  new, 

Casting  its  crown  of  glory  at  His  feet, 

Whose  word  from  chaos  to  existence  called 

A  universe  ;  whose  hand  omnipotent 

Controls  the  storms  that  wake  the  boundless  deep, 

"  And  guides  the  planet  in  its  wild  career." 


MISCELLANEOUS.  21 


THE      INDIAN      MOTHER      AND       HER      CHILD 

I  SAW  an  Indian  mother, 

With  her  long,  dark,  waving  hair  ; 
And  cradled  on  her  arm  there  slept 

An  infant  young  and  fair. 
Many  had  gathered  'round  her, 

And  beauty  on  her  smiled, 
But  lovelier  than  all  who  looked 

Was  that  young  Indian  child. 

Speak  kindly  to  the  red  man, — 

Oh !  scorn  ye  not  his  race  ; 
Remember  that  our  favored  land 

Was  once  his  dwelling-place. 
We  drove  him  from  his  rightful  home, 

And  with  false  words  beguiled, 
And  now  there  is  no  home  for  him, 

Nor  for  his  infant  child. 

Speak  kindly  to  the  red  man, — 
There's  sadness  on  his  brow  ; 


22  MISCELLANEOUS. 

His  heart  with  grief  is  breaking, 
Oh  !  soothe  its  anguish  now. 

Let  not  his  dark  skin  fright  thee, 
Nor  his  manner,  seeming  wild  ; 

There  is  a  heart  of  tenderness 
In  Nature's  hapless  child. 


THE       BLIND       HARPER. 

THEY  passed  him  by  with  hurried  steps, — 

A  gay  and  busy  throng ; 
They  passed  him  by,  nor  paused  to  hear 

The  son  of  Erin's  song. 

The  passing  breeze  his  white  locks  swayed, 

His  eyes  with  age  were  dim ; 
The  mid-day  sun  in  splendor  shone, 

But  not,  alas  !  for  him. 

Far  from  his  own  green  ocean-isle, 
Of  home  and  friends  bereft, 


MISCELLANEOUS.  23 

The  old  man  leaned  upon  his  harp, — 
All  that  to  him  was  left. 

,As  o'er  the  strings  his  fingers  strayed, 

Sad  tears  were  falling  fast ; 
For,  oh !  their  every  tone  but  seemed 
An  echo  of  the  past. 

"  All  me !"  he  sighed,  "  what  mean  these  tears  ? 

I  as  a  child  am  weak !" 
Then  buried  in  his  shrivelled  hand 

His  pale  and  care-worn  cheek. 

I  saw  they  coldly  passed  him  by, 

That  gay  and  busy  throng  ; 
But  there  was  one  who  turned  to  hear 

That  son  of  Erin's  song. 

Her  heart  with  gentle  pity  moved, 

She  wiped  a  tear  away, 
As  plaintive  on  her  ear  there  fell 

A  simple  melody. 

"  Dear  isle  of  the  ocean,  how  oft  have  I  sported 
Amid  thy  green  hills  and  thy  valleys  so  fair ! 

To  the  banks  of  the  Shannon  how  oft  have  resorted, 
And  plucked  the  sweet  daisy  and  green  shamrock  there  ! 


24  MISCELLANEOUS. 

"  Oh  !  never  again  shall  my  wild  harp  awaken 
Its  soft-breathing  numbers  on  Erin's  bright  shore  ; 

The  cot  of  my  father,  alas  !  is  forsaken ; 
The  home  of  my  youth  I'll  revisit  no  more. 

"  Farewell,  0  my  country  !  dear  isle  of  the  ocean ; 

I'm  weary  of  life  and  I  pine  to  be  free  : 
When  to  Heaven  I  offer  my  latest  devotion, 

I  will  not  forget  to  make  mention  of  thee." 

He  ceased,  and  quickly  to  his  side 

That  gentle  maiden  came  ; 
Long  had  she  gazed,  and  much  she  wished 

To  ask  the  stranger's  name. 

"  Sire  !"  she  said  :  the  old  man  turned 

His  sightless  eyes  around  ; 
For  oh  !  to  him  a  voice  so  kind 

Seemed  an  unearthly  sound. 

"  Sire  !  that  thrilling  lay  had  waked 

My  deepest  sympathy  ;• — 
And  hast  thou  not  one  kindred  heart 

To  feel  or  care  for  thee  ?" 

"  No,  lady ;  no !  I  am  alone, 
Far  from  my  native  shore  ; 


MISCELLANEOUS.  25 

And  those  who  loved  me  dearly  once 
I  live  but  to  deplore. 

"  The  morn  I  left  that  sunny  isle 

I  never  can  forget ; 
My  broken-hearted  mother's  kiss, 

Lady,  I  feel  it  yet. 

And  then,  how  wildly  round  my  neck 

My  only  sister  clung ! 
And  soon  above  her  silent  grave 

The  drooping  willow  hung !" 

"  O  minstrel !  I  can  hear  no  more," 

The  weeping  maiden  said  ; 
And  mournfully  the  old  man  laid 

His  hand  upon  her  head. 

"  Go,  lady,  go  ;  and  evermore 

O  may'st  thou  happy  be ! 
An  old  man's  blessing  take,  'tis  all 

He  can  bestow  on  thee." 

The  spring  returned,  the  sylvan  choir 
Awoke  the  silent  glade  \ 
2 


26  MISCELLANEOUS. 

And  gently  through  the  forest  trees 
The  balmy  zephyrs  played ; 

But  the  poor  minstrel  they  had  laid 
Within  the  grave's  dark  cell, 

Far  from  the  land  that  gave  him  birth 
And  those  he  loved  so  well. 


THE     MISANTHROPE. 

OH  !  what  is  friendship,  sympathy,  or  love  3 
I  have  no  ties  in  common  with  my  race, 
For  from  my  cradle  I  have  learned  to  feel 
The  bitter  truth — "  there  is  no  trust  in  man." 
Yes,  e'en  my  Mother — she  who  gave  me  birth — 
Could  from  her  breast  the  helpless  infant  spurn, 
And  when  I  smiled  and  stretched  my  tiny  arms 
To  clasp  her  neck,  she  did  not  smile  again, 
But  thrust  me  from  her,  and  with  haughty  air 
Would  bid  me  to  the  nursery  away. 
Thus  were  my  young  affections  in  the  bud 
By  coldness  withered,  deadened  by  neglect. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  27 

One  morning  I  had  wandered  from  my  home 

To  a  green  bank,  and  sat  me  down  to  weep, 

When  suddenly  I  looked  upon  a  flower — 

Its  folded  leaves  just  opening  to  the  breeze 

That  careless  sported  with  its  artless  smile, — 

Then  passed  it  by.     As  o'er  its  form  I  knelt, 

And  kissed  its  velvet  cheek  with  tears  empearled, 

Alas  !  I  thought,  its  fate  how  like  my  own  ! — 

I  loved  it  for  its  very  loneliness — 

A.nd  when  it  drooped  beneath  a  scorching  sun 

My  heart  was  wrung  with  anguish  ;   to  my  lips 

A  murmur  rose,  the  murmur  of  despair. 

The  only  object  I  had  ever  loved 

Was  lost,  and  I  again  was  desolate. 

I  sought  the  quiet  mansion  of  the  dead — 

And  as  I  gazed  in  thoughtful  mood  around, 

I  envied  those  who  slept  forgotten  there. 

Forgotten !  yes,  the  world  can  soon  forget — 

A  death-bed  scene  but  short  impression  makes — 

We  gather  round  the  couch  of  those  we  love 

(If  love  indeed  e'er  grew  on  human  soil) ; 

We  madly  press  the  clay-cold  lips  with  ours, 

We  mourn  a  being  perished  from  the  shrine 

Where  we  had  held  it  in  idolatry. 

Imaginary  woes  oppress  us  most, 

But  real  grief  comes  not  with  real  cause. 


28  MISCELLANEOUS. 

Passion  enslaves — Ambition  rules  the  mind, 
And  leaves  but  space  for  momentary  tears. 
There  came  a  voice  of  sorrow  on  mine  ear  ; — 
I  paused,  I  listened  ; — by  a  moss-grown  grave 
A  gentle  girl  was  kneeling — on  her  breast 
Her  trembling  hands  in  agony  were  clasped, 
Her  eyes  uplifted  to  the  cloudless  heaven, 
Glanced  hurriedly  among  the  starry  train, 
As  if,  reflected  in  their  pale  soft  light, 
A  mother's  look  of  tenderness  she  read. 
And  who,  I  thought,  when  I  shall  cease  to  be, 
Will  shed  one  tear  o'er  Julian's  lonely  grave  ? 
She  was  an  orphan — I  was  by  her  side — 
And  on  that  sacred  spot  to  her  I  breathed 
"  The  first,  the  only  vow  that  e'er  my  heart 
Had  dared  to  utter  in  a  mortal  ear — 
My  cup  of  bliss  was  full,  yet  from  my  lips 
Was  dashed  ere  I  had  half  its  sweetness  drained. 
She  died  as  die  the  innocent,  the  good ; 
And  as  her  gentle  spirit  died  away — 
Julian,  she  murmured,  we  shall  meet  again, — 
Then  closed  her  eyes  to  sleep  the  sleep  of  death. 
Hear  me,  ye  silent  watchers  of  the  night ! 
To  you  alone  my  sad  complaint  I  make  ; — 
Ye  rocks !  that  echo  back  my  plaintive  moans, 
Hide  in  your  caverns  deep  my  secret  grief  ! 


MISCELLANEOUS.  29 

Farewell  to  hope,  to  joy,  to  life  farewell, 
Fate,  thou  hast  done  thy  work  !  thy  victim  now, 
I  only  ask  a  quick  release  from  earth ; 
Oh !  grant  it,  Heaven,  in  mercy  to  a  heart 
Whose  every  chord  is  broken,  and  who  sighs 
To  find  at  last  a  resting-place  in  peace  ! 


ON  THE  WRECK  OF  THE  SWALLOW 

APRIL  7,  1845. 

THE  SWALLOW,  light  as  Eden's  bird, 
Swept  o'er  the  mighty  Hudson's  breast, 
And  smiling  on  the  silver  wave, 
The  star  of  evening  seemed  to  rest. 

Amid  her  spacious  cabins  shed 
Full  many  a  lamp  its  brilliant  ray  ; 
And  there  in  conversation  sat 
The  young,  the  lovely,  and  the  gay. 

Hope  twined  a  wreath  for  many  a  brow, 
And  pleasure  beamed  in  many  an  eye ; 


30  MISCELLANEOUS. 

Perhaps  some  gentle  lay  beguiled 
The  moments  swiftly  flitting  by. 

On,  on  she  speeds  her  rapid  course  ; 
But  hark  !  a  crash  !  a  dreadful  shock  ! 
What  mean  those  loud  and  piercing  shrieks  ? 
She  strikes  upon  the  sunken  rock ! 

What  consternation,  what  dismay 
Depicted  on  each  ghastly  face  ! 
As  frantic  to  the  deck  they  rush, 
Locked  in  each  other's  wild  embrace. 

"  My  friends,"  the  captain  calmly  said, 
"  Be  not  dismayed — your  fears  allay  ;" 
At  this  the  trembling  star  of  hope 
Shone  with  a  momentary  ray. 

Peace  and  tranquillity  restored, 
They  to  the  cabin  all  retire  ; 
But  ere  'tis  reached,  Oh  God  !  a  shriek 
More  loud  is  heard,  of  fire  !  fire  ! 

The  wreathing  flames,  with  awful  glare, 
Illume  the  dark  and  angry  sky  ; 
The  tempest  raves ;   ah  !   who  can  paint 
That  scene  of  keenest  agony  ! 


MISCELLANEOUS.  31 

A  husband  clasped  his  lovely  wife, 
While  fear  convulsed  her  trembling  frame, 
And  plunging  in  the  boiling  tide, 
They  struggled  long  the  shore  to  gain ; 

But  oh  !  she  perished  ! — in  his  arms 
The  light  of  life  had  passed  away  ; 
And  sleeping  in  her  watery  tomb, 
He  left  in  watery  grave  her  clay. 

One  they  have  rescued  from  the  deep  ; — 
But  why  that  troubled,  restless  air  ? 
"  Save  her  /"  he  cried  ;  "  think  not  of  me  ! 
She  was  committed  to  my  care." 

He  pointed  to  a  female  form 

That  floated  senseless  on  the  wave  ; 

"  Leave  me  to  perish  !  fly  to  her  ! 

And  snatch  her  from  a  threatened  grave !" 

Two  noble  steamers  side  by  side 
Are  at  a  distance  faintly  seen ; 
They  near  the  wreck,  and  hope  revives 
In  hearts  where  keen  despair  has  been. 

Thanks  to  a  Providence  divine 
Two  hundred  passengers  they  save  ; 


32  MISCELLANEOUS. 

But,  bitter  thought !  full  many  sleep 
Beneath  the  Hudson's  rolling  wave. 

Yet  when  the  last  loud  trump  shall  sound, 
And  earth  and  sea  yield  up  their  dead, 
These  slumbering  ones  to  life  restored, 
Shall  rise  and  leave  their  watery  bed. 


SPEAK    NOT    HARSHLY. 

SPEAK  not  harshly  when  reproving 
Those  from  duty's  path  who  stray  ; 

If  we  would  reclaim  the  erring 
Kindness  must  each  action  sway. 

Speak  not  harshly  to  the  wayward ; — 
Win  their  confidence — their  love ; 

They  will  feel  how  pure  the  motive 
That  hath  led  us  to  reprove. 

Speak  not  harshly  to  the  stranger, 
Though  he  come  m_h unable  guise  ; 


MISCELLANEOUS.  33 

Think  how  slight  a  thing  would  kindle 
Gladness  in  a  stranger's  eyes. 

Speak  not  harshly  to  the  felon, 

Though  like  adamant  his  heart ; 
Touch  one  chord  of  fond  affection, 

And  the  scalding  tear  may  start. 

Speak  not  harshly  to  the  orphan, 
They  have  borne  of  grief  their  share ; 

Add  not  to  their  heavy  burden, 
Add  not  to  corroding  care. 

Speak  not  harshly,  was  the  precept 
Which  to  man  the  Saviour  taught ; — 

May  that  precept  ever  guide  us — 
Gentle  words  will  cost  us  naught. 


34  MISCELLANEOUS. 


MORNING. 


OH  !  'tis  a  glorious  morn  ! — the  golden  sun, 

Just  peeping  from  his  orient  chambers,  calls 

On  nature  to  rejoice  and  banish  sleep. 

Up  I  cast  the  drapery  of  thy  couch  aside, 

Nor  waste  in  slumber  precious  hours  like  these  ; 

To  the  blue  sky  above  thee  lift  thine  eyes, 

Lovely  as  when  its  Maker's  voice  divine 

Did  first  its  birth  proclaim,  and  the  bright  stars 

In  heavenly  concert  swelled  their  notes  of  praise. 

Go  forth  where  Nature's  bounteous  hand  hath  strown 

Her  choicest  beauties — her  luxuriant  flowers, 

Wet  with  the  tears  which  night  hath  o'er  them  wept ; 

Wooed  by  the  gentle  zephyr's  fond  caress, 

They  rear  their  blushing  heads,  and  smiling  greet 

In  silent  eloquence  the  fair  young  morn. 

Oh  !  could  we  with  the  gloomy  shades  of  night 

Chase  the  dark  clouds  of  sorrow  from  the  brow, — 

Could  pure  affection  feel  no  withering  blight, 

But  heart  to  heart  in  one  sweet  tie  be  linked — 

How  were  the  soul  content  to  fold  her  wings 

And  dwell  for  ever  'mid  such  loveliness. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  35 

But  earth  is  not  our  home — its  fairest  scenes 

Entrance  but  with  a  momentary  joy  ; — 

A  few  short  months,  and  the  green  spot  thou  tread'st 

Will  smile  no  more,  nor  gentle  flower  be  seen, 

Nor  carol  sweet  of  the  aerial  choir 

In  that  deserted  wild  will  charm  thine  ear. 

Thus  the  most  sacred  ties  of  human  love 

By  death's  cold  hand  are  broken  one  by  one. 

"  Friend  after  friend  departs  ;" — with  mournful  tread 

We  bear  them  to  the  narrow  house  of  clay  ; — 

And  to  our  hearts  comes  home  the  solemn  truth, 

We  are  but  dust — to  dust  we  shall  return. 


OH!  TURN  NOT  FROM  THE  WEEPING  ONE. 

OH  !  turn  not  from  the  weeping  one 
Whose  heart  is  wrung  with  grief, 

A  tender  look,  a  soothing  word, 
Might  give  that  heart  relief. 

Nay,  turn  not  from  the  weeping  one, 
For  oh  !  ve  little  know 


36  MISCELLANEOUS. 

How  bitter  was  the  agony 

That  caused  those  tears  to  flow. 

We  are  not  always  happiest 
When  we  are  heard  to  sing ; 

The  gayest  notes  we  warble 

May  thoughts  of  sadness  bring. 

The  step  elastic  still  may  be, 

The  lip  a  smile  impart, 
And  joy  seem  sparkling  in  the  eye 

While  sorrow  rends  the  heart. 

Then  turn  not  from  the  weeping  one, 
Whose  heart  with  grief  oppressed, 

Would  lose  its  anguish  for  a  while 
On  pity's  gentle  breast. 

Nay,  turn  not  from  the  weeping  one, 

For  little  do  ye  know 
How  bitter  was  the  agony 

That  caused  those  tears  to  flow. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  3*7 


HOPE    ON,    HOPE    EVER." 


"  HOPE  on,  hope  ever  " — Earth  is  not  so  drear, 
Nor  life  a  comfortless  and  empty  dream  ; 

The  darkest  clouds  that  gather  o'er  us  here 
Are  not  the  harbingers  we  sometimes  deem  ; 

For  lo !  how  brilliant  the  returning  ray, 

As  one  by  one  their  shadows  pass  away ! 

"  Hope  on,  hope  ever" — Is  thy  heart  bereft 
Of  all  that  rendered  life  once  dear  to  thee  ? 

Amid  the  wreck  the  quenchless  spark  is  left, 

Whose  light,  though  feeble,  shall  thy  beacon  be. 

Though  death's  cold  hand  some  kindred  tie  may  sever. 

Still  let  thy  motto  be  "  Hope  on,  hope  ever." 

"  Hope  on,  hope  ever" — Weary  and  oppressed, 
Care's  pallid  seal  stamped  on  thy  sunken  cheek, 

There  is  a  haven  of  eternal  rest 

Whose  sacred  joy  no  mortal  tongue  can  speak. 

Look  upward  in  thine  hour  of  dark  despair — 

Hope  points  to  Heaven,  and  drops  her  anchor  there. 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


THE     DYING     DAUGHTER. 

OH,  Mother  !  I  am  dying, 

But  ere  these  life-strings  break, 
I  fain  would  look  a  last  adieu 

On  yonder  glassy  lake 
Upon  whose  banks  I've  sported, 

When  my  heart  was  light  and  free, 
And  where  my  young  companions 

Have  twined  their  wreaths  for  me. 

The  golden  sun  is  sinking 

Beneath  the  crimson  west, 
The  birds  have  sung  their  evening  song, 

And  lulled  their  young  to  rest. 
Then  bear  me  to  the  window, 

In  health  my  favorite  place — 
For  I  would  gaze  ere  life  depart 

On  Nature's  lovely  face. 

The  Ivy  and  the  Woodbine 
Cling  round  the  leafy  bower ; 

Where  by  the  gushing  fountain's  side 
I've  planted  many  a  flower  ; — 


MISCELLANEOUS.  39 

Clad  in  their  vernal  beauty 

From  Winter's  night  they  wake, 
But  I  must  leave  them  all,  mother, — 

Oh  !  keep  them  for  my  sake. 

The  lute  you  love  so  dearly, 

Now,  gentle  mother,  bring  ; 
And  the  little  song  you  taught  me, 

I'll  try  once  more  to  sing. 
Too  many  thoughts  of  other  days 

Oppress  me  while  I  play, 
Forgive  these  flowing  tears,  mother, 

And  take  the  lute  away. 

I  know  that  I  am  dying — 

The  cold  damp's  on  my  brow, 
And  sister  spirits  call  me 

To  their  blissful  mansions  now. 
They're  waiting  to  conduct  me 

To  their  bright,  happy  bowers ; 
But  I'll  not  forget  thee,  mother, 

In  that  starry  home  of  ours. 

And  when  you've  gently  laid  me 
In  the  silent  grave  to  sleep, 


40  MISCELLANEOUS. 

I'll  on  the  zephyr's  wing  return, 
And  tell  thee  not  to  weep. 

A  mist  is  gathering  o'er  me, 
Oh !  mother,  fare  thee  well ! 

I  come,  I  come,  ye  Seraph  band ! 
My  voice  with  yours  to  swell. 


A      VISIT      TO       A       FIXED       STAR 

'TWAS  night,  and  by  a  fountain  side 

I  stood  and  mused  alone  : 
Strange  objects  rose  upon  my  sight 

That  were  to  me  unknown. 

Mysterious  forms  fantastic  moved, 
With  slow  and  measured  tread, 

Like  shadows  floating  in  the  air, 
Or  spectres  from  the  dead. 

A  goblet  from  that  fountain  filled, 

How  quickly  did  I  drain  ! 
For  those  who  taste  its  cooling  draught 

May  live  the  past  again. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  41 

Then  suddenly  a  meteor  glare 

Flashed  from  the  midnight  sky ; 
'Twas  gone, — and  on  immensity 

Was  riveted  mine  eye. 

Borne  upward  by  a  power  unseen, 

In  air  I  seemed  to  glide ; 
Onward — still  onward — was  my  course  : 

A  spirit  was  my  guide. 

We  passed  on  never  tiring  wings 
Through  boundless  realms  of  space, 

Till  lost  amid  those  clustering  stars 
That  here  we  scarce  can  trace. 

Vast  suns,  with  burning  satellites, 

Burst  on  my  wondering  eyes : 
Bewildered  by  their  dazzling  light, 

I  gazed  in  mute  surprise. 

"  Tell  me,  celestial  one,"  I  said, 

"  If  thou  mayest  be  addressed, 
Are  not  the  brilliant  orbs  I  see 

The  dwellings  of  the  blest  ?— 

"  Can  we  the  utmost  limits  reach  ? — 
The  heights  of  space  attain  ?" 


42  MISCELLANEOUS. 

"  When  ends  eternity,"  he  cried, 
"  And  Heaven  shall  cease  to  reign." 

He  spoke,  then  pointed  to  a  star, 

That  far  beyond  us  lay  ; 
And  swifter  than  on  lightning's  wing 

We  thither  bent  our  way. 

In  robes  of  passing  loveliness 
Was  Nature  there  arrayed  ; 

The  air  was  fragrant  with  the  breath 
Of  flowers  that  never  fade. 

"  Spirit,"  I  asked,  "  can  aught  of  grief 

These  regions  fair  molest  ? 
My  pinions  gladly  would  I  fold 

In  this  bright  land  to  rest." 

"  Mortal,"  he  answered,  "  thou  must  pass 

The  portals  of  the  dead  ; 
For  sacred  are  these  verdant  fields, 

Where  only  spirits  tread.' 


M 


He  ceased  ;  then  waved  me  back  to  earth 

I  saw,  I  heard  no  more. 
I  woke  as  from  a  pleasing  dream  ; 

The  mystic  spell  was  o'er. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  43 


LINES       TO      MY      MOTHER 
ON   MY    BIRTHDAY. 

MY  birth-day  eve  is  gone,  mother  ; 

Say,  didst  thou  think  of  me  ? 
Each  moment  while  I  counted  o'er, 

My  thoughts  were  all  on  thee. 

And  oft  I  wished  thee  here,  mother, 

Our  social  group  to  join  ; 
For  I  long  to  clasp  thine  hand,  mother, 

And  on  thy  breast  recline. 

My  birth-day  eve  is  gone,  mother ; 

The  future  who  can  know  ? 
Oh  !  will  my  buoyant  heart,  as  now, 

With  gladness  still  overflow  ? 

Or  will  its  trembling  strings,  mother, 
Speak  but  a  mournful  tone  ? 

And  I,  of  all  I  love  bereft, 
Weep  wretched  and  alone  ? 


44  MISCELLANEOUS. 

My  birfri-day  eve  is  gone,  mother  ; 

Friends  gather  round  me  now, 
And  they  are  sad  whene'er  they  mark 

A  shadow  on  my  brow. 

They  sing  my  favorite  lays,  mother, 
And  many  an  hour  beguile ; 

For  they  are  dear  as  life  to  me — 
I  live  but  in  their  smile. 

Yet,  one  by  one,  ere  long,  mother, 

Will  they  all  pass  away ; 
And  in  this  world,  when  they  are  gone, 

I  could  not,  would  not  stay. 

My  birth-day  eve  is  gone,  mother  ; 

Yes,  thou  didst  think  of  me  : 
And  I  will  gently  sink  to  sleep, 

And  dream  of  home  and  thee. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  45 


TO     A     BROTHER     GOING     TO     CALIFORNIA 

Do  not  ask  these  lips  to  utter 

What  my  heart  can  ne'er  approve  ; 

I  would  break  the  spell  that  thralls  thee, 
With  a  sister's  fondest  love. 

In  thy  breast  high  hopes  are  swelling, 

Visions  bright  of  future  years ; 
But  to  me  how  dark  the  picture ! 

Full  of  anxious  thoughts  and  fears. 

Thou  wilt  say  my  fears  are  groundless, 

And  perhaps  it  may  be  so  ; — 
Mine  may  be  a  selfish  feeling, 

But  I  cannot  bid  thee  go. 

Thou  whose  kind  reproof  has  saved  me 

Many  an  hour  of  deep  regret — 
Thou  whose  voice  hath  soothed  and  cheered  me — 

No  !  I  cannot  lose  thee  yet ! 

But  I  fear  that  I  may  wrong  thee, 
While  I  bid  thee  linger  here ; 


46  MISCELLANEOUS. 

Go  !  and,  if  I  must  resign  thee, 
God  protect  thee,  brother  dear  ! 

I  will  hush  each  sad  emotion, 

Though  thy  absence  give  me  pain ; 

'Tis  enough — be  thine  the  treasure 
Thou  wilt  lose  so  much  to  gain. 


AN     ADDRESS 


DELIVERED  AT  AN  EXHIBITION  IN  BROOKLYN,  NOVEMBER,  1848. 

ALL  hail  to  thee,  Brooklyn  I     With  a  rapture  untold, 
Our  voices  united  thy  beauties  unfold, 
Far,  far  on  the  night-breeze  our  numbers  shall  sweep, 
While  the  Star-spirit  looks  on  the  foam-crested  deep. 

All  hail  to  thee,  Brooklyn !  twin-sister  and  friend ! 
Thou  City  of  Churches,  whose  tall  spires  ascend 
And  point  to  the  home  of  the  pure  and  the  blest, 
Where  is  hushed  the  wild  throb  of  the  care-stricken  breast. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  47 

Events  of  the  past  to  my  mein'ry  return, 
And  the  patriot  fire  in  my  bosom  doth  burn ; 
The  old  Revolution  rolls  back  its  dread  scenes, 
And  before  me  the  sword  of  the  Conqueror  gleams. 

But  where  are  the  captured,  the  wronged,  the  oppressed  ? 
Their  bones  thou  hast  gathered,  and  laid  them  to  rest. 
Thy  tears,  lovely  Brooklyn,  still  verdant  shall  keep 
The  grave  where  those  heroes  now  quietly  sleep. 

I  visit  thy  Greenwood ; — how  peaceful  its  shade. 
I  stand  by  the  grave  where  a  poet  was  laid ; — 
And  read  on  the  white  sculptured  marble,  his  name, 
And  his  own  simple  lines, — oh,  how  touching  the  strain ! 

In  life  he  was  shunned,  and  despised  was  his  worth — 
But  what  to  him  now  all  the  plaudits  of  Earth  ? 
Death  circled  his  brow,  when  he  pillowed  it  there, 
With  a  garland  of  fame  which  he  deigned  not  to  wear. 

Poor  M'Donald !  Oh !  scorn  not  the  grave  where  he  lies ! 
Poor  M'Donald !  in  pity  my  spirit  replies. 
I  turned  from  the  spot,  and  in  sadness  I  strayed 
Where  a  stranger  lay  sleeping — a  young  Indian  maid. 

I  heard  the  soft  sound  of  the  clear  sylvan  lake, 

And  the  wild  birds  that  love  the  dark  grove  to  wake ; 


48  MISCELLANEOUS. 

Oh,  dearer,  far  dearer  to  me  was  their  tone, 

As  it  mingled  its  note  with  the  wind's  fitful  moan. 

All  hail  to  thee,  Brooklyn !  now  bear  me  away 

To  thy  heights,  where  in  grandeur  yon  wide-spreading  bay 

Reflects  like  a  mirror  the  sun's  golden  light, 

And  the  white  sail  is  seen  on  its  bosom  so  bright. 


LET     ME     DIE     ON     THE     PRAIRIE. 

LET  me  die  on  the  prairie !  and  o'er  my  rude  grave, 
In  the  soft  breeze  of  summer  the  tall  grass  shall  wave ; 
I  would  breathe  my  last  sigh  as  the  bright  hues  of  even 
Are  melting  away  in  the  blue  arch  of  Heaven. 

Let  me  die  on  the  prairie  !  unwept  and  unknown, 
I  would  pass  from  this  fair  Earth  forgotten,  alone ; — 
Yet  no  ! — there  are  hearts  I  have  learned  to  revere, 
And  methinks  there  is  bliss  in  affection's  warm  tear. 

Oh,  speak  not  to  me  of  the  green  cypress  shade ; 
I  would  sleep  where  the  bones  of  the  Indian  are  laid, 


MISCELLANEOUS.  49 

And  the  deer  will  bound  o'er  me  with  step  light  and  free, 
And  the  carol  of  birds  will  my  requiem  be. 

Let  me  die  on  the  prairie  !  I  have  wished  for  it  long ; 
There  floats  in  wild  numbers  the  bold  hunter's  song ; 
'Tis  the  spot  of  all  others  the  dearest  to  me, 
And  how  sweet  in  its  bosom  my  slumber  will  be  ! 


LINES     ON     THE     DEATH     OF 
MA  JO  R      RINGGOLD  . 

THEY  bore  him  from  the  battle-field 

And  clash  of  arms  away  ; 
Extended  on  a  lowly  couch, 

The  dying  hero  lay. 

The  life-blood  issues  from  the  wound- 
All  human  aid  is  vain  ; — 

A  faithful  band  in  silence  weeps 
Their  brave  commander  slain. 
3 


50  MISCELLANEOUS. 

Through  foernen's  ranks  he  proudly  rode, 
They  marked  his  lofty  brow ; 

His  keen  dark  eye  had  defiance  flashed  ; — 
But  oh !  he  has  fallen  now. 

He  beckoned  to  one  who  near  him  stood—- 
Leaned his  head  on  his  friendly  breast, 

And  then  in  accents  weak  and  low, 
These  words  to  him  addressed. 

"  I  know  that  life  is  ebbing  fast ; 

All,  all  will  soon  be  o'er ; — 
My  Country !  I  have  fought  for  thee, 

But  I  fight  for  thee  no  more. 

"  And  when  these  eyes  in  death  are  closed, 

And  tolls  my  funeral  knell, 
To  Cadwal'der  and  his  brave  corps, 

Bear  thou  my  last  farewell." 


MISCELLANEOU  51 


LINES     ON    THE    DEATH    OF    COLONEL     CLAY 

Lo  !  on  the  bloodstained  battle-field 

A  wounded  hero  lying  ! 
Dim  is  the  lustre  of  his  eye — 

For  he,  alas !  is  dying. 

See  how  with  feeble  hand  he  grasps 

The  sword  so  faithful  ever  ! 
Now  drops  the  weapon  by  his  side, 

To  be  resumed — no,  never. 

Oh,  gallant  Clay  !  though  for  thy  brow 
Its  laurels  fame  is  wreathing, — 

Vain  trophies  these,  thy  bosom  now 
Its  last  faint  sigh  is  heaving. 

Back  !  tyrants !  would  ye  deeper  make 

The  wounds  already  given  ? 
You  from  an  aged  father's  heart 

Another  tie  have  riven. 

Intrepid  Warrior  !  thou  hast  left 
A  deathless  name  behind  thee  ;  » 


52  MISCELLANEOUS. 

That  name  unsullied,  bright  shall  shine, 
Though  the  dark  grave  may  hide  thee. 

Thou  by  thy  General's  side  hast  fought, 
And  Taylor  will  deplore  thee  ; 

And  many  a  heart  that  loved  thee  dear 
Will  weep  in  silence  o'er  thee. 


OH,  warble  not  that  song  of  home — 

Its  plaintive  notes  are  dear, 
But  oh !  they  wake  on  memory's  strings 

A  chord  I  may  not  hear. 
Now  silent  night,  o'er  hill  and  dale 

Its  dusky  mantle  throws, 
And  flow'rets  by  the  zephyrs  lulled 

On  Earth's  green  lap  repose. 
And  in  the  blue  etherial  heaven 

Smiles  many  a  star  serene, 
There  the  bright  moon  in  splendor  rolls — 

How  lovely  is  4;he  scene. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  53 

'Twas  on  a  night  like  this — so  still, 

So  calm  did  nature  seem — 
The  winds  in  ocean  caves  were  hushed, 

And  the  same  silvery  beam, 
Which  now  I  watch  with  eager  eye 

So  beautiful  and  mild, 
In  fair  Savannah's  distant  clime 

Looked  forth  and  on  me  smiled. 
I  saw  it  not ;  for  on  a  couch, 

The  cold  and  lifeless  clay 
Of  Allen  Lee,  my  bosom  friend, 

Alas !  before  me  lay. 
Long  had  I  watched  the  hectic  flush 

That  tinged  his  pallid  cheek ; 
It  told  the  melancholy  truth 

I  felt,  yet  dare  not  speak. 
I  bore  him  to  that  genial  clime 

To  breathe  its  balmy  air, 
And  o'er  him  day  and  night  I  watched 

With  all  a  brother's  care. 
Who  the  solicitude  can  paint 

Of  a  physician's  breast, 
As  o'er  a  patient's  couch  he  bends 

With  torturing  fears  oppressed  ; — 
The  weeping  relatives  around 

Beseeching  him  to  save 


54  MISCELLANEOUS. 

A  brother  or  a  darling  child 

From  the  dark  threatening  grave. 
But  if  no  relative  is  near, 
And  skill  disease  defies, 
A  stranger  in  a  distant  land, 

The  sinking  sufferer  lies, — 
Intrusted  solely  to  his  care 

By  friends  and  kindred  dear, — 
Then  if  his  efforts  prove  in  vain, 

His  anguish  how  severe  ! 
Such  was  my  lot,  and  such  the  grief 

Intense  my  heart  that  wrung ; 
When  on  the  friend  I  dearly  loved 

Death's  hand  its  work  had  done. 
A  moment  ere  from  earth  away 

His  tranquil  spirit  fled, 
He  warmly  clasped  my  hand  in  his 

And  thus  to  me  he  said  : — 
"  My  more  than  brother,  fare  thee  well ! 

I  leave  thee  for  a  while, 
Death  has  no  terror  to  my  mind, 

I  meet  it  with  a  smile  ; 
Yet  there  is  something  I  would  ask, 

Grant  me  my  last  request ; 
Oh  !  leave  me  not  to  moulder  here, 

Where  stranger  ashes  rest ; 


MISCELLANEOUS.  55 

But  in  my  own  dear  native  land, 

Oh !  let  my  grave  be  made ; 
Close  to  my  childhood's  happy  home 

Beneath  some  friendly  shade. 
Say  to  my  mother  I  have  gone 

Triumphant  to  the  sky, 
.With  the  angelic  host  to  spend 

A  blest  eternity. 
To  Mary, — ever  faithful  wife, 

To  her  this  pleasing  relic  bear, 
And  bid  her  near  her  gentle  heart 

Her  Allen's  image  wear." 
He  paused,  and  wiped  away  the  tear 

That  trembled  in  his  eye. 
"  Now  on  thy  bosom  lay  my  head, 

For  oh !  I  there  would  die." 
Peaceful  as  in  its  mother's  arms 

The  babe  is  lulled  to  sleep, 
He  closed  on  earth  his  languid  eyes 

And  left  me  there  to  weep. 
Then  thoughts  of  home  and  all  its  joys 

O'er  my  lone  spirit  came  ; 
A  minstrel  'neath  my  window  sang 

An  old  familiar  strain  ; 
And  did  I  in  that  land  remote 

List  to  those  accents  dear  ? 


56  MISCELLANEOUS. 

Oh  !  'twas  too  much.  "  Home  !  sweet,  sweet  home !" 

I  could  not,  dared  not  hear. 
I  paced  the  room  with  hurried  steps, 

My  throbbing  temples  pressed ; 
Conflicting  feelings,  strong  and  deep, 

Were  struggling  in  my  breast. 
The  music  ceased,  and  as  the  tones 

Of  that  old  melody, 
Soft  as  the  balmy  breath  of  eve, 

Died  on  mine  ear  away, 
I  looked  upon  the  lifeless  form 

Of  that  departed  one, 
And  thought  on  what  a  brittle  thread 

Is  man's  existence  hung. 
*  ****** 

The  "  Lafayette,"  a  noble  ship, 

Was  anchored  in  the  bay ; 
My  precious  charge,  with  mournful  step, 

Thither  did  I  convey. 
Four  weary  days  and  sleepless  nights 

Of  agony  I  passed, 
When  I  beheld — thrice  welcome  sight ! 

The  destined  port  at  last. 
With  feelings  I  can  ne'er  describe, 

I  reached  his  mother's  door ; 
All  was  soon  told,  and  the  first  gush 


MISCELLANEOUS.  5*7 

Of  bitter  sorrow  o'er, 
She  raised  her  trembling  hands  to  Heaven 

As  if  in  silent  prayer  ; 
"  O  God  !"  in  broken  tones  she  cried, 

"  Teach  me  thy  stroke  to  bear  !" 
And  in  the  rural  spot  he  chose 

They  laid  him  down  to  sleep, 
And  oft  at  evening's  quiet  hour 

They  wander  there  to  weep. 
Then  warble  not  that  song  of  home, 

Its  plaintive  notes  are  dear ; 
But  oh  !  they  wake  on  memory's  strings 

A  chord  I  may  not  hear. 


58  MISCELLANEOUS 


AN     ADDRESS 

DELIVERED  AT  AN  EXHIBITION  OF  A  JOINT  DELEGATION  OF  PUPILS 
FROM  THE  MASSACHUSETTS,  PENNSYLVANIA,  AND  NEW  YORK 
INSTITUTIONS  FOR  THE  BLIND,  BEFORE  CONGRESS,  APRIL  29TH, 

1846. 

LAND  of  our  patriot  sires,  Columbia,  hail ! 

On  thy  green  shores  blooms  the  immortal  tree 

By  them  once  planted,  and  from  North  to  South, 

From  East  to  West  its  lofty  branches  spread, 

And  to  its  top  the  daring  eagle  soars. 

O  Land  of  Liberty,  blest  be  thy  name ! 

Here  sleep  the  mighty  dead,  thy  heroes  brave, 

Who  pledged  their  lives,  their  fortunes,  and  their  all, 

The  glorious  cause  of  Freedom  to  defend. 

Lo,  high  in  air  thy  banner  proudly  floats, 

Thy  peerless  deeds  by  distant  nations  sung, — 

What  tyrant  power  shall  dare  thy  rights  invade  ? 

While  in  our  Union's  Capital  we  stand, 

That  bears  the  Father  of  our  Country's  name, — 

A  name  where  each  ennobling  virtue  blends, — • 


MISCELLANEOUS.  59 

Well  may  each  breast  the  flame  heroic  fire. 
Hail !  Freemen,  hail !  ye  rulers  of  our  land, 
Assembled  here  in  one  united  band, 
From  every  State  you  come  ; — where  granite  clifis 
Majestic  frown  along  New  England's  shore, — 
Where  Victory  perched  on  Saratoga's  height, — 
Where  Susquehanna  cheers  her  smiling  vales 
And  where,  like  billows  on  old  Ocean's  breast, 
The  rolling  prairie  in  the  night-breeze  waves ; — 
And  valor  sends  her  offspring  from  the  South. 
This  evening  in  your  presence  we  appear, 
To  prove  benevolence  not  vain,  which  bid 
A  ray  of  knowledge  on  our  minds  to  shine, 
And  ask  of  you  to  lend  some  brighter  rays. 
Oh !  turn  not  from  this  sightless  group  away, 
Whose  eyes  in  vain  are  lifted  to  your  own, 
One  glance  to  meet ;  but  all  to  us  is  dark. 
Yon  orb  majestic,  whose  effulgent  ray 
All  nature  cheers — alas  !  we  cannot  see  ; 
Nor  tree,  nor  flower,  nor  the  meand'ring  stream, 
Which  gently  murmurs  through  the  rural  dale ; — 
We  but  the  fragrance  breathe,  the  murmurs  hear. 
And,  like  the  natural,  must  the  mental  eye 
Be  shrouded  ever  in  perpetual  night  ? 
Ah  no  !  the  mind  unfettered  may  expand, 


60  MISCELLANEOUS. 

On  her  light  wing  far  distant  realms  explore, 

And  deeply  drink  of  the  Pierian  spring. 

Nine  States  to  you  their  sightless  children  send 

From  homes  Philanthropy  for  them  hath  reared ; 

One  sacred  link  hath  bound  us  heart  to  heart, 

And  in  one  common  cause  we  all  unite. 

Nor  for  ourselves  alone  the  boon  we  ask, — 

We  plead  for  all  whom  mental  darkness  veils, 

Who  sigh  to  share  the  blessings  we  enjoy. 

You  who  have  hearts  to  feel  and  eyes  to  see 

The  noble  works  of  nature  and  of  art, 

You  cannot  coldly  our  petitions  spurn ; 

One  word  of  yours  can  thousands  happy  make, — 

Then  speak  it, — we  implore  you,  speak  it  now ! 


TO   THE   PRESIDENT. 

OUR  PRESIDENT  !  we  humbly  turn  to  thee  ; — 
Are  not  the  blind  the  objects  of  thy  care  ? 
Do  they  not  claim  thy  tender  sympathy  ? 
We  know  thy  influence  doth  wide  extend, 
Oh !  then  for  us  that  influence  exert ; — 
The  generous  act  shall  angel  hands  record, 
And  God  the  All-seeing  shall  behold  and  bless. 
Thou  hast  not  on  this  circle  gazed  unmoved ; — 


MISCELLANEOUS.  61 

The  chord  must  vibrate  swept  by  pity's  hand, — 
Oh  yes,  e'en  now  its  thrilling  tones  are  heard ! 
Softly  on  eager,  listening  ears  they  fall, 
And  to  the  sightless  tell  of  hope  and  joy. 


AN     APPEAL     FOR     ERIN     IN     HERDISTRES 

To  thee,  Columbia  !  favored  clime, 

From  Erin  comes  a  bitter  cry  ; 
Oh  !  must  she  still  with  hunger  pine, 

Her  famished  sons  by  thousands  die  ? 

O  gracious  Heaven  !  who  can  portray 
Those  scenes  of  wretchedness  and  woe  ? 

The  heart  grows  faint,  and  turns  away, 
While  tears  for  suffering  Erin  flow. 

Convulsive  to  her  throbbing  breast 
The  mother  clasps  her  starving  child, 

And  hearily  by  want  oppressed 

Thy  aid  implores  with  anguish  wild. 


62  MISCELLANEOUS. 

Canst  thou  those  generous  hearts  forget, 
That  warmly  beat  and  fought  for  thee  ? 

Alas  !  those  radiant  stars  have  set, 
Yet  by  their  sacred  memory, 

Oh !  aid  the  land  that  gave  them  birth, 
Her  cheerful  smile  again  restore, 

And  prove  how  dearly  prized  the  worth 
Of  noble  heroes  now  no  more. 


TO     MISS     W.     ON     HER     BIRTHDAY 

THY  birth- day  morn,  how  lovely 

It  dawns  upon  the  eye ! 
It  bids  thee  awake  from  slumber 

To  view  the  laughing  sky. 

The  golden  sun  is  rising 

Majestic  o'er  the  sea, 
And  nature  seems  to  whisper 

Of  happiness  to  thee. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  63 

Thy  birth-day  morn,  within  thee 

What  fond  emotions  swell ; 
Thy  thoughts  are  in  a  distant  land, 

Where  friends  and  kindred  dwell. 

The  mighty  deep's  between  you, 

But  it  can  never  part 
One  link  in  love's  bright  fetter, 

That  binds  you  heart  to  heart. 

Thy  birth-day  morn — I  bring  thee 

From  her  Elysian  bowers, 
A  wreath  my  muse  kept  for  thee, 

Culled  from  her  choicest  flowers. 

The  myrtle  and  the  ivy, 

The  rose  and  lily  fair, 
The  dew-plant  and  the  violet, — 

But  there's  no  cypress  there. 

Then  take  the  flowers,  my  sister, 

Meet  emblems  for  thy  brow  ; 
Oh !  might  they  ever  blossom 

As  beautiful  as  now ! 


64  MISCELLANEOUS. 

Where'er  thou  art,  and  ever, 
My  prayer  to  Heaven  shall  be, 

That  spirits  kind  and  guardian 
May  gently  watch  o'er  thee. 


THE     HINDOO     MOTHER, 

SHE  stood  upon  the  river's  bank, 
Most  beautiful  and  young ; 

And  loosely  in  the  listless  wind 
Her  raven  tresses  hung. 

She  stood  upon  the  river's  bank, 
And  heard  its  hollow  moan ; 

While  round  her  neck  her  little  son 
His  tiny  arms  had  thrown. 

She  looked  into  his  clear  blue  eye, 

So  lovely  and  so  mild, 
While  all  unconscious  of  its  fate, 

The  helpless  infant  smiled. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  65 

A  moment — and  its  drooping  head 

Lay  nestling  on  her  breast, 
As  if  an  angel's  melody 

Were  soothing  it  to  rest. 

She  paused,  then  nearer  to  that  stream 

Her  precious  burden  bore  ; 
She  laid  it  in  the  wave's  cold  arms, — 

It  sank  to  rise  no  more. 


WEEP     NOT     FOR     THE     DEAD. 

SEE  o'er  the  dark  waters  of  yon  spreading  bay, 
The  "  Vanderbilt"  lightly  comes  sweeping  its  way  ; 
A  hero,  the  star  of  our  Nation  is  there, 
And  the  echo  of  music  is  borne  on  the  air. 

But  see  !  like  a  speck  on  the  cloudless  blue  sky 
To  yonder  proud  vessel  an  eagle  doth  fly  ; 
"  Say,  bird  of  Columbia,  thy  wild  mountain  home, 
Oh  !  why  hast  thou  left,  on  the  billow  to  roam  1 


66  MISCELLANEOUS. 

The  swift  wind  out-speeding,  how  fearless  thy  flight, 
Not  heeding  the  wind  nor  the  wave  in  its  might ; 
Then  tell  us  whence  art  thou,  0  bold  mountain  king, 
And  why  o'er  that  banner  hast  folded  thy  wing." 

"  I  have  come  from  the  land  of  the  pure  and  the  blest, 
I  have  come  from  the  land  where  the  patriots  rest ; 
Why  quivers  thy  lip  and  why  mournful  thy  tread  ? 
I  have  passed  from  earth's  portals,  weep  not  for  the  dead. 

"  Remember  my  words  when  the  death  angel  came, 
And  my  life-blood  grew  chilled  as  it  coursed  through  each 

vein  ; 

And  my  trembling  partner  in  tears  o'er  me  bent ; 
Of  earth  'tis  my  last,  but  to  die  I'm  content. 

"  Oh  thou  !  whom  in  mercy  kind  Heaven  doth  spare 
To  a  nation  that  loves  thee, — protect  it  with  care  ; 
Thy  locks  gently  waving  are  silvered  with  grey, 
And  I  read  on  that  brow,  thou  art  passing  away. 

"  Recall  not  the  past,  though  its  memory  be  sweet ; 
Improve  thou  the  present,  its  moments  are  fleet ; 
Farewell ! — to  the  region  no  mortal  may  tread 
My  pinions  now  bear  me, — weep  not  for  the  dead." 


MISCELLANEOUS.  67 


"PEACE,   BE   STILL." 


WHEN  o'er  the  billows  wild  and  dark, 
Was  rudely  tossed  the  Saviour's  bark, 

He  calmed  them  by  his  sovereign  will, 
And  bade  the  angry  storm  be  still. 

The  tempests  cease — the  billows  sleep — 
In  silence  on  the  mighty  deep  ; 

For  God,  omnipotent  to  save, 

Can  calm  the  wind  and  rule  the  wave. 

Thus  when  tumultuous  passions  swell, 
And  we  against  his  law  rebel, 

Oh  !  may  our  hearts  his  spirit  fill, 
And  bid  the  angry  storm  be  still. 

And  oh  !  in  sorrow's  gloomy  hour, 
Still  may  we  own  his  sovereign  power ; 

Bow  meekly  to  his  gracious  will, 

And  bid  the  throbbing  heart  be  still. 


68  MISCELLANEOUS. 


VOICE     OF     THE     TWILIGHT     HOUR. 

VOICE  of  the  twilight  hour ! 

I  list  to  thy  Heaven-breathed  tone, 
In  the  tender  sigh  of  the  closing  flower, 

Or  the  soft  wind's  dying  moan : 
Thou  speak'st  of  the  hopes  that  smiled 

On  the  bright  spring-time  of  youth, 
When  a  mother  knelt,  and  in  language  mild, 
A  lesson,  though  simple,  she  taught  her  child — 

'Twas  a  lesson  of  artless  truth. 

Voice  of  the  twilight  hour 

How  sweet  is  thy  sound  to  me ! 
For  my  soul  is  entranced  by  thy  soothing  power, 

And  its  sorrows  are  lost  in  thee  : 
Thou  art  heard  in  the  trembling  strings 

Of  the  harp  which  the  breezes  wake  ; 
In  the  bird,  as  her  farewell  note  she  sings 
To  the  golden  hues  which  the  sunset  flings 

O'er  the  breast  of  the  silver  lake. 

Thou  speak'st  of  a  brighter  land — 
Of  a  far  off  region  fair, 


MISCELLANEOUS.  69 

And  thy  whispers  are  soft  of  a  shadowy  band, 
And  I  know  that  the  loved  are  there : 

Voice  of  the  twilight  hour ! 

Ere  thy  Heaven-breathed  tones  depart, 

Oh  !  speak  in  the  sigh  of  the  closing  flower, 

Or  the  winds  that  die  in  the  greenwood  bower, 
Once  more  to  my  anxious  heart. 

Do  those  we  have  cherished  here 

In  that  land  their  love  forget, 
Though  their  home  is  a  holier,  happier  sphere, 

Oh  !  say,  do  they  guard  us  yet  ? 
But  the  twilight  answered  not ; 

And  a  voice  from  the  distant  hill 
Replied  as  I  stood  on  that  lonely  spot : 
The  friends  thou  hast  cherished  forget  thee  not, 

And  they  love  and  they  guard  thee  still. 

'Twas  the  voice  of  the  silent  night — 

And  the  earth  and  the  ocean  slept, 
And  the  silent  stars  with  their  mellow  light 

O'er  nature  their  vigils  kept. 
And  I  thought  it  were  bliss  to  die, 

To  fade  with  the  tints  of  even, 
For  gladly  then  would  the  spirit  fly 
On  its  angel-wings  to  the  realms  on  high, 

And  meet  with  the  lost  in  Heaven. 


70  MISCELLANEOUS. 


THE     VALE     OF     L- 


OH  !  vale  of  L ,  again  I  descry 

The  scenes  where  so  oft  I  have  wandered  before ; 
And  weary  and  worn  to  thy  bosom  I  fly, 

Sweet  vale  of  L ,  I  leave  thee  no  more. 

The  moon-light  is  sleeping  serene  on  thy  breast, 
The  dew-drops  like  pearls  in  thy  lily-bells  lie ; 

The  songsters  have  folded  their  pinions  to  rest, 
And  merrily  dances  the  rivulet  by. 

Oh  !  vale  of  L ,  while  here  I  repose, 

I  dream  that  life's  cares  and  its  perils  are  o'er, 

So  smoothly  the  current  of  happiness  flows  ; 
Sweet  vale  of  L ,  I  leave  thee  no  more. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  7l 


CHILD  of  the  forest !  oil !  where  did'st  thou  stray, 
When  cheerless  and  "bleak  was  the  winter  day  ? 
Where  from  the  pitiless  blast  did'st  thou  hide  ? 
In  a  cavern  dark,  by  the  mountain  side  ? 
Lone  are  the  hills  which  thou  lovedst  to  roam ; 
Child  of  the  forest,  where  is  thy  home  ? 

Where  the  winds  blow  most  fiercely,  there  I  dwell ; 
And  they  break  on  my  soul  like  a  funeral  knell ; 
But  I  see  the  shade  of  my  father  there, 
And  he  bids  me  be  strong  my  lot  to  bear. 
Though  here  are  the  hills  where  I  love  to  roam, 
Where  the  winds  blow  most  fiercely,  there  is  my  home. 

Deep  are  the  wrongs  which  my  race  have  borne, 
From  a  land  once  theirs,  by  the  white  men  torn  ; 
See'st  thou  yon  oak  with  its  giant  form  ? 
It  may  bend  its  head  to  the  coming  storm  ; 
It  may  bend — yet  broken  it  cannot  be  ; 
Lady,  kind  lady,  such  are  we. 


72  MISCELLANEOUS. 

They  may  bury  the  steel  in  the  Indian's  breast, 
They  may  lay  him  low  with  his  sires  to  rest, 
His  scattered  race  from  their  heritage  push, 
But  his  dauntless  spirit  they  cannot  crush ; 
For  his  course,  like  the  eagle's,  is  bold  and  free, 
And  his  heart  is  as  firm  as  that  old  oak  tree. 

Lady,  I  sigh  for  that  far  off  shore, 

Where  they  tell  me  the  red  man  shall  weep  no  more  ; 

I  hear  the  great  spirit  whispering  now 

As  I  turn  to  look  on  thy  sunny  brow ; 

Lady,  I  leave  thee,  farewell !  farewell ! 

Where  the  winds  blow  most  fiercely,  there  I  dwell. 


ODE     TO     GENERAL    TAYLOR. 

OH  !  bid  Apollo  strike  the  lyre ! 

Sons  of  Columbia,  wake  to  song ! 
Let  Taylor's  name  each  breast  inspire, 

And  loud  the  pealing  notes  prolong. 
To  him,  who  on  the  battle  plain 

Sent  to  each  foeman's  heart  dismay, 


MISCELLANEOUS.  73 

We  dedicate  each  lofty  strain, 
The  hero  brave  of  Monterey. 

Yes,  let  the  trumpet  tongue  of  fame 

Tell  of  the  deeds  by  Taylor  done ; 
A  nation's  honors  crown  his  name, 

The  honors  he  hath  justly  won. 
Let  others  seek — they  cannot  win 

One  laurel  from  his  brow  away ; 
We'll  twine  our  wreaths  alone  for  him 

Who  fought  so  brave  at  Monterey. 


SPRING. 

Lo !  the  rosy  morning  breaking, 
Pours  its  brightness  o'er  the  earth, 

Now  from  peaceful  slumbers  waking 
Haste  with  songs  to  hail  its  birth. 

CHORUS.   Hark  the  Hunter's  horn  is  sounding, 
O'er  the  distant  hills  rebounding. 

Happy  season  !  rich  the  treasure 
Thou  to  us  dost  kindly  bring ; 
4 


74  MISCELLANEOUS. 

Can  we  dream  of  aught  but  pleasure, 

While  we  greet  thee,  gentle  Spring  ! 
CHORUS.    Hark  the  Hunter's  horn  is  sounding, 
O'er  the  distant  hills  rebounding. 


I  AM  seeking,  but  vainly,  a  rose-bud  for  thee, 

With  the  morning's  young  blush  on  its  delicate  cheek  ; 

In  which  nature's  image  reflected  shall  be, 

And  whose  perfume  of  undying  friendship  shall  speak. 

The  snow-drop,  the  daisy,  I  have  passed  in  my  way, 
The  jessamine  sleeps  by  yon  rivulet  clear ; 

They  have  oped  their  soft  eyes  to  the  beauties  of  day, 
But  the  bud  I  am  seeking,  alas  !  is  not  here. 

I  asked  of  a  sunbeam  that  carelessly  played 

With  the  hues  it  had  lent  to  the  butterfly's  wing  ; — 

Content  thee  to  gather  these  blossoms,  it  said, 

And  the  bud  thou  art  seeking  ere  long  will  I  bring. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  75 

I  asked  the  light  zephyr,  that  sportive  and  gay 
Had  stolen  a  sigh  from  the  violet's  breast ; 

But  it  merrily  laughed  as  it  floated  away, 
And  sank  on  the  bell  of  a  lily  to  rest. 

Then  take  thou  this  chaplet,  'twas  woven  for  thee, 
Its  flowers,  though  simple,  are  lovely  and  meek ; 

Thou  wilt  prize  them   perhaps,  though  they  humble 

may  be, 
And  to-morrow  the  rose-bud  again  will  I  seek. 


THE   HUNTER'S  HOME. 

I  LOVE  to  watch  these  rugged  hills, 

By  Hudson's  rolling  wave, 
When  angry  clouds  sweep  o'er  the  sky, 

And  loud  the  tempests  rave. 

I  love  to  watch  the  foaming  surge 
That  heaves  its  sparkling  crest, 

But  my  home,  the  dearest  spot  to  me, 
Is  in  the  far,  far  West. 


76  MISCELLANEOUS. 

I  love  to  climb  the  rocky  steep, 

Or  in  the  silent  glade 
To  wander  forth  in  pensive  thought, 

When  twilight  shadows  fade. 

But  the  rolling  prairie's  wide  expanse 
I  love — I  love  the  best — 

My  home, — the  dearest  spot  to  me, 
Is  in  the  far,  far  West. 

There  fearlessly  the  wild  deer  bounds, 
And  blithely  every  morn, 

The  passing  wind  bears  far  away 
The  notes  of  the  hunter's  horn. 


ON     THE     RECEIPT     OF     A     LOCK     OF     MY 


BROTHER,  dear  brother,  thrice  welcome  to  me 
Is  the  glossy  curl  of  thy  dark  brown  hair, 

I  love  it  because  it  was  part  of  thee, 

And  it  tells  me,  I  still  thy  affections  share. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  77 

Brother,  dear  brother,  many  years  have  flown 
Since  together  we  chanted  our  vesper  hymn 

But  I  think  of  thee  oft  as  I  muse  alone, 
And  the  silent  stars  of  the  night  grow  dim. 

Is  thy  step  as  buoyant,  thine  eye  as  bright, 

As  when  the  green  fields  of  our  home  we  ranged, 

And  gathered  fresh  flowers  by  the  young  morn's  light  ? 
Or  with  time's  rapid  current  art  thou  too  changed  ? 

And  say  is  our  father's  sweet  look  the  same  ? 

And  our  mother's  smile,  is  it  still  as  gay  ? 
The  thoughts  that  cling  'round  that  hallowed  name 

Bring  tears  which  I  cannot  wipe  away. 

Oh !  watch  o'er  our  brother,  srnoothe  gently  his  brow, 
And  soothing  and  kind  let  thine  accents  be ; 

As  he  loved  me  once,  he  will  love  thee  now. 
But  speak  to  him  often — Oh !  speak  of  me  ! 

Brother,  dear  brother,  though  stronger  ties 
Are  binding  my  heart  to  Columbia's  shore 

Than  ever  I  felt  'neath  old  England's  skies, 
I  shall  never  cease  loving  her  more  and  more. 


78  MISCELLANEOUS. 


THE     DEAD     CHILD. 

SHE  sat  alone  beside  the  couch  of  death, 
And  looked  upon  the  features  of  her  child ; 
The  silken  curls  lay  on  its  velvet  cheek, 
And  as  she  stooped  to  kiss  those  parted  lips 
From  which  the  ruby  tints  had  scarcely  fled, 
It  seemed  as  if  her  own  sweet  lullaby 
Had  hushed  it  to  a  soft  and  gentle  sleep. 
She  clasped  its  little  hands  upon  its  breast, 
And  then  in  melancholy  accents  said : — 
Oh  no !  it  cannot  be,  thou  art  not  dead  ! 
Look  up,  my  daughter !  let  me  see  again 
Those  laughing  eyes  in  their  long  lashes  hid ; 
'Tis  hard  to  give  thee  up,  in  one  short  hour 
To  feel  the  hopes  of  years  for  ever  crushed, 
And  severed  one  by  one,  those  tender  cords 
That  round  the  fibres  of  my  heart  were  twined, 
Till  with  my  very  life  they  seemed  to  blend. 
Oh  !  there  are  wounds  which  time  alone  must  heal, 
And  tears  which  only  heaven  can  wipe  away. 
Thy  mother's  hand  a  pencil  sketch  shall  draw 
Of  thee,  my  child,  so  beautiful  and  young ; 


MISCELLANEOUS.  79 

For  I  would  keep  thine  image  near  me  still. 
A  moment,  and  the  painful  task  begun, 
She  had  been  weeping  bitterly,  but  now 
All  trace  of  tears  had  vanished  from  her  cheek ; 
And  she  prayed  earnestly  to  God  for  strength. 
Nor  was  that  prayer  unheard.     A  still  small  voice 
Had  whispered  consolation  to  her  heart  ; 
A  hand  unseen,  to  firmness  nerved  her  own, 
And  soon  her  infant's  picture  was  complete. 


THE     ROVER. 

I  AM  free  as  the  mountain  breezes  wild, 

My  sable  plume  that  wave ; 
And  my  heart  is  as  gay  as  the  heart  of  a  bird, 

And  my  spirit  is  bold  and  brave. 

My  trusty  sword,  like  a  faithful  friend, 

Hangs  glittering  at  my  side  ; 
And  I  steer  my  bark  with  a  daring  hand 

O'er  the  breast  of  the  furious  tide. 


80  MISCELLANEOUS. 

I  love  to  look  on  a  frowning  sky 

When  the  vivid  lightnings  flash  ; 
And  the  tempest  shrieks  at  the  dead  of  night, 

And  the  rolling  thunders  crash. 

I  have  stood  on  the  deck  of  my  noble  craft, 

And  watched  its  shattered  sail ; 
I  have  seen  its  mast  in  pieces  dashed, 

Hang  shivering  in  the  gale. 

But  think  ye  my  cheek  was  pale  with  dread, 

Or  my  blood  grew  cold  and  chill  ? 
There  was  music  for  me  in  the  mad  wind's  mirth, 

And  my  heart  beat  fearless  still. 

I  have  stood  in  the  battle's  foremost  ranks, 
When  the  booming  shots  came  fast ; 

And  the  light  grew  dim  in  the  warrior's  eye, 
And  the  valiant  were  breathing  their  last. 

I  never  quailed  'neath  a  tyrant's  glance, 

A  slave  I  have  scorned  to  be  ; 
They  have  sought  my  life,  they  have  sought  in  vain, 

I  arn  free — I  am  free — I  am  free  ! 


MISCELLANEOUS.  81 


THE     VIOLET     OF     THE     WEST. 
TO    MART. 

WHEN  April  brings  its  smiles  and  showers, 
And  nature's  carpet  green  is  spread, 

Among  her  first  and  sweetest  flowers 
The  meek-eyed  violet  lifts  its  head. 

The  rose  its  blushing  hues  may  boast, 

In  bowers  luxuriant  caressed ; 
The  modest  flower  I  value  most 

Is  the  meek  violet  of  the  West. 

So  unassuming,  yet  so  fair, 

Its  language — innocence  and  truth ; 
Such  beauties  every  heart  should  wear, 

For  they  are  gems  of  guileless  youth. 

The  zephyr  on  its  bosom  sleeps, 

The  lip  of  morn  its  cheek  hath  pressed  ; 

And  nightly  nature  fondly  weeps 
O'er,  the  meek  violet  of  the  West. 
4* 


82  MISCELLANEOUS. 

Mary,  thy  silken  curls  I  see, 

As  graceful  in  the  breeze  they  wave ; 

Thou,  a  young  fawn  so  light  and  free, 
Thy  path  is  where  the  streamlets  lave. 

What  joy  those  laughing  eyes  impart ! 

Affection's  lip  thy  cheek  hath  pressed  ; 
And  need  I  say,  fair  child,  thou  art 

The  meek-eyed  violet  of  the  West  ! 


REFLECTIONS     OF     A     MURDERER. 

OH  !  worse  than  death  itself  the  keen  remorse 
Of  an  accusing  conscience  !     Oh !  how  black 
The  deed  that  dooms  me  to  this  dismal  cell ! 
These  clanking  chains,  the  only  sounds  that  break 
The  awful  stillness  of  my  drear  abode ; 
These  iron-grated  windows  scarce  admit 
Sufficient  rays  my  darkness  to  illume. 
I  was  of  gentle  blood — the  only  son 
Of  doting  parents ;  tenderly  beloved, 
My  every  wish  to  gratify  they  strove. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  83 

I  roamed  at  will  where  fancy's  dictates  led, 

And  drank  of  pleasure's  cup  without  restraint. 

I  had  a  haughty  spirit ;  and  in  vain 

To  curb  it  did  my  gentle  mother  try. 

But  I  did  scorn  reproof;  and  with  curled  lip 

And  sullen  brow,  would  from  her  presence  rush, 

And,  in  ungovernable  rage,  give  vent 

To  words  it  chills  my  very  blood  to  speak. 

Then  came  the  voice  of  conscience  to  my  heart ; 

And  for  a  while  my  better  feelings  rose, 

And  half  I  would  resolve  to  throw  myself 

Upon  my  mother's  neck,  my  fault  confess, 

In  penitence  sincere  her  pardon  crave  ; 

But  my  proud  heart  would  never  bend  to  this. 

One  morn  a  hasty  summons  I  received 

My  mother  to  attend  without  delay. . 

I  to  her  room  repaired — she  caught  my  hand, 

And  in  a  tone  scarce  audible,  she  said  : — 

Oh  !   Edward,  I  am  dying  !   fare-thee-well ! 

One  kiss  before  we  part ! — I  heard  no  more — 

My  brain  grew  giddy,  and  insensible 

I  sank,  and  to  my  chamber  was  conveyed. 

Days  passed  ere  from  that  horrid  dream  I  woke ; — 

And  when  again  to  consciousness  restored, 

They  told  me  that  my  mother  was  no  more ; — 

And  I,  her  fell  destroyer,  yet  survived. 


84  MISCELLANEOUS. 

Such  was  rny  grief,  I  could  have  blessed  the  hand 

Stretched  out  against  me  to  deprive  of  life. 

Thus  time  wore  on ;  my  nineteenth  summer  came 

A  lovely  girl  had  my  affections  won  ; 

So  mild,  so  innocent,  I  sometimes  thought 

Myself  unworthy  of  a  heart  like  hers. 

My  wayward  spirit  she  alone  could  sway ; — 

I  yielded  to  her  gentle  influence, 

And  I  was  happy  then.     I  thought  that  life 

Had  yet  a  tie  to  bind  me  to  the  world. 

One  lovely  eve  I  sought  Eudora's  bower — 

The  crescent  moon  rode  through  a  cloudless  sky, 

And  smiled  serenely  o'er  the  sleeping  earth. 

I  had  been  absent  long,  and  now  my  heart 

Beat  high  at  thought  of  meeting  her  I  loved. 

I  saw  her  graceful  figure  lightly  move, 

And  by  her  side  was  one  upon  whose  face 

Her  blue  eye  rested,  while  a  timid  blush 

Mantled  her  cheek  ;  as  on  his  arm  she  leaned 

Deep  conversation  they  appeared  to  hold. 

At  once  the  flame  of  jealousy  was  roused. 

Stung  to  the  quick  and  maddened  to  despair, 

I  vowed  revenge  on  her  who  thus  had  dared 

To  pay  my  love  with  such  inconstancy. 

With  slow  and  cautious  step  did  I  proceed 

Towards  the  poor  victim  of  rny  ill-timed  wrath. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  85 

I  could  endure  no  more — "  Die !"  I  exclaimed — 

And  springing  like  a  tiger  on  his  prey, 

My  poniard  seized,  and  plunged  it  in  her  breast. 

One  loud  and  piercing  shriek — and  at  my  feet 

Ghastly  and  pale,  a  bleeding  corpse  she  lay. 

"  Villain  !  it  is  my  sister  thou  hast  slain  !" 

The  frantic  youth  in  agony  exclaimed. 

"  My  sister  and  young  Edward's  promised  bride. 

Would  he  were  here  to  slay  thee  on  the  spot !" — 

"  He  is  before  thee !  yes,  'tis  Edward's  hand 

That's  dyed  with  blood  of  guiltless  innocence. 

Unsheathe  thy  sword — on  me  thy  vengeance  wreak — 

To  thee  my  breast  lies  open — strike  the  blow — 

Or  I  will  do  the  horrid  deed  myself." 

"  Stay — stay  thy  hand,  for  thou  art  ill  prepared 

To  meet  thy  Judge  and  hear  thy  awful  doom. 

I  do  forgive  thee — murderer  though  thou  art, 

And  oh  !  may  Heaven  in  mercy  pardon  thee  ! 

This  night  I  to  my  childhood's  home  returned. 

A  traveller  from  Italia's  distant  clime  ; 

And  with  my  sister  to  her  bower  I  strayed 

To  speak  of  old  familiar  scenes  awhile. 

And  there  from  her  I  learned  your  plighted  love, 

And  that  to-morrow  was  your  bridal  day." 

**  To-morrow  !  Oh,  to-morrow  !"  I  exclaimed — 

"  Would,  that  these  eyes  might  never  see  its  dawn  !" 


86  MISCELLANEOUS. 

"  Edward !  though  I  forgive,  my  country's  laws 

Demand  that  thou  to  justice  shouldst  be  brought. 

Thy  sentence  will  be  death — but  promise  now 

By  the  cold  corpse  of  her  once  dear  to  thee, 

That  thou  wilt  for  eternity  prepare." 

Ijihuddered  while  the  promise  passed  my  lips, 

And  to  this  gloomy  dungeon  I  was  borne, 

And  soon  my  awful  destiny  was  sealed. 

Oh,  my  Eudora  !  would  thy  spirit  deign 

To  me  a  visit  at  this  solemn  hour ! 

Wouldst  thou  but  smile  forgiveness  on  me  now, 

Oh  !  I  could  ask  no  more.     She  comes !  she  comes  ! 

Angel  of  mercy  !  messenger  of  peace  ! 

Thou  speak'st  my  pardon — I  may  be  forgiven. 


SUSPICION. 


WHY  should  dark  suspicion  linger 
In  a  world  so  bright  as  this  ? 

Marring  every  love  we  cherish — 
Blasting  every  hope  of  bliss. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  87 

Is  there  not  one  kindred  feeling 
Which  the  heart  may  justly  claim  ? 

Friendship,  is  it  false  and  fleeting — 
Are  its  pleasures  but  a  name  ? 

There  are  kind  and  gentle  voices 

Breathing  music  in  our  ear, 
There  are  hearts  congenial  beating, 

We  have  proved  those  hearts  sincere. 

Prompted  by  a  selfish  passion, 

Oft,  too  oft,  we  harshly  chide ; — 
Better  far  with  Christian  meekness 

Strive  each  other's  faults  to  hide. 

Who  with  deeply  wounded  feeling, 
Hath  not  writhed  beneath  this  pain  ? 

Shall  we  plant  the  barbed  arrow 
In  another's  breast  again  ? 

Let  not  dark  suspicion  linger 

In  a  world  so  bright  as  this, 
Marring  every  love  we  cherish, 

Blasting  every  hope  of  bliss. 


88  MISCELLANEOUS. 


COME      TO      THY      FOREST      HOME. 

COME  to  thy  forest  home ! 
Hath  not  its  solitude  a  charm  for  thee  ? 
Then  why  an  exile  shouldst  thou  longer  be  ? — 
Could  India's  wealth  allure  thy  heart  to  stay 
For  ever  from  these  rustic  scenes  away  ? 

Come  to  thy  forest  home  ! 

Come  to  thy  forest  home  ! 
Hast  thou  forgotten  where  the  oak  tree  stood 
In  all  its  pride,  the  monarch  of  the  wood  ? 
Hast  thou  forgotten  where  the  stately  pine 
Rocked  in  its  giant  arms  the  clust'ring  vine  ? 

Come  to  thy  forest  home  ! 

Come  to  thy  forest  home ! 
Hath  absence  quenched  the  torch  by  mem'ry  lit 
Canst  thou  thy  cottage  by  the  brook  forget  ? 
Where  days  and  years  drag  heavily  away, 
And  e'en  the  echoes  chide  thy  long  delay. 

Come  to  thy  forest  home  ! 


MISCELLANEOUS.  89 


LINES    ON    THE    BIRTH-DAY    OF    WASHINGTON. 

OH  !  shall  we  cease  to  venerate  the  day 

Which  gave  the  "  father  of  his  country  "  birth  ? 

Shall  a  victorious  nation  cease  to  pay 

Their  grateful  homage  to  departed  worth  ? 

Why  sleeps  the  muse  ?  why  hangs  the  minstrel  lyre 
Untuned  upon  the  willow's  drooping  bough  ? 

Cannot  the  name  of  Washington  inspire 

In  those  mute  chords  the  voice  of  music  now  ? 

Children  of  freemen,  can  we  e'er  forget 

The  peerless  crown  our  brave  ancestors  won  ? 

Has  the  bright  glorious  sun  for  ever  set 
That  rose  on  Bunker's  hill  and  Lexington  ? 

No  !  no !  then  as  we  prize  that  sacred  ray 

That  lights  the  eastern  and  the  western  skies  ; 

Oh,  let  us  still  revere  his  natal  day 
Whose  high-souled  deeds  first  caused  that  sun  to  rise. 


90  MISCELLANEOUS. 


THE      CAPTIVE      BIRD      TO      ITS      CAPTOE 

I  KNOW  thou  wilt  not  harm  me, 

A  little  helpless  thing — 
For,  lady,  with  a  gentle  hand 

Thou  strok'st  my  glossy  wing. 

Yet  do  not  keep  me  longer 

A  captive  here  to  sigh 
For  mate,  for  nest,  for  greenwood  bower, 

Oh !  thither  let  me  fly. 

Thou  canst  not  tame  me  ever, 

I  must  be  free  to  roam, 
If  prisoned  now  the  costliest  cage 

Could  never  be  my  home. 

My  tiny  wings  would  flutter, 

And  I  should  droop  and  die  ; 
For  I  love  the  laughing  zephyr 

And  the  clear  blue  summer  sky. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  91 

Dost  think  I  can  be  happy 

Amid  these  fragrant  flowers  ? 
Alas  !  they  always  would  remind 

Of  the  lost  summer  hours. 

You  soon  shall  see  them  wither 

And  feel  their  latest  sigh ; 
And  though  my  life  might  longer  be, 

I,  too,  would  quickly  die. 

Dear  lady,  for  a  moment 

Upon  thy  hand  I  stay, 
As  if  to  thank  thee  e'er  I  fly 

O'er  the  green  fields  away. 


TO    H.    M  .    ESQ. 

JOY  to  thy  bridal  eve  ! 

Now  softly  fades  yon  orb  of  day, 
How  tranquil  is  its  parting  ray, 
While  rosy  twilight  seems  to  say, 

Joy  to  thy  bridal  eve  ! 


92  MISCELLANEOUS. 

Joy  to  thy  bridal  eve  ! 

See  Luna  beautiful  and  bright, 

Looks  down  with  mild  and  gentle  light, 

She  seems  to  smile  more  sweet  to-night — 

Joy  to  thy  bridal  eve  ! 

Joy  to  thy  bridal  eve  ! 

On  airy  pinions  light  and  free, 

The  muse  a  wreath  long  kept  for  thee 

Presents — and  whispers  merrily, 

Joy  to  thy  bridal  eve ! 

Joy  to  thy  bridal  eve  ! 

I  see  her  on  thy  arm  recline — 
To-morrow  at  the  altar's  shrine 
A  holy  vow  shall  seal  her  thine — 

Joy  to  thy  bridal  eve  ! 

Joy  to  thy  bridal  eve  ! 

Let  friendship  now  her  tribute  bring, 
While  we  whose  hearts  around  thee  clino-, 

O' 

In  heartfelt  strains  to  thee  would  sing — 
Joy  to  thy  bridal  eve  ! 


MISCELLANEOUS.  93 


TO      A      FRIEND. 

OF  friendship's  sacred  theme  to  thee  I  sing — 
Hast  seen  the  ivy  round  the  woodbine  cling  ? 
Thus  like  the  ivy  would  I  cling  to  thee — 
A  friendship  pure ; — wilt  thou  my  woodbine  be  ? 

Come  then,  I  bid  thee  welcome  to  this  heart, 
For  thou  indeed  a  kindred  spirit  art ; 
In  this  bright  world  the  pleasing  task  be  ours 
To  make  more  happy  all  the  passing  hours. 

Roses  indeed  we  cannot  always  find, 
Or  with  them  thorns — or  noxious  leaves  be  twined ; 
But  in  our  path  were  cankered  thorns  not  strewn, 
We  should  forget  that  earth  was  not  our  home. 

Dark  clouds  have  sometimes  veiled  thy  sunny  sky, 
And  stormy  winds  passed  fiercely,  threatening  by  ; 
Thy  nature  sensitive  to  each  alarm 
Has  calmly  borne  the  shock  of  every  storm. 


94  MISCELLANEOUS. 

Adieu !  thou  leav'st  us  for  the  smiling  west, 
And  thou  wilt  gaze  on  the  Ohio's  breast, 
The  verdant  hills,  the  woodlands  green  and  fair  ; 
But  thou  wilt  see  no  rolling  prairies  there. 

Thou  sayest  a  forest  hath  a  charm  for  thee — 
'Tis  noble, — yet  a  prairie  wild  for  me — 
Ah,  well !  I  know  'mid  birds  and  blossoms  gay 
The  summer  hours  will  sweetly  pass  away. 

Now  soars  my  muse  on  airy  pinions  bright, 
But  hark  !  she  bids  me  whisper  thee  good  night ; 
Thy  faithful  friend  I  truthfully  subscribe, 
And  hope  our  friendship  may  for  ever  live. 


AN      ADDRESS      TO      A      FRIEND      AT     THE 
OPENING      OF     THE      YEAR. 

Now  from  Parnassian  heights,  or  Tempe's  vale, 
Where  founts  ambrosial  gush  in  limpid  streams, 
Thou  Muse  of  song  descend,  while  at  thy  shrine 
An  humble  votary  kneels,  thee  to  invoke ; 


MISCELLANEOUS.  95 

To  numbers  sweet  this  harp  discordant  tune, 
While  fiery  steeds  bring  down  the  queen  of  morn 
In  joyful  haste,  winged  through  the  liquid  air. 
Dawn  of  the  infant  year !  we  hail  its  birth  ; — 
The  sunlight  dances  on  the  crested  wave, 
And  nymphs  in  coral  caves  far,  far  beneath, 
Wild  music  wakes,  while  from  Arcadian  bowers 
Come  soft  perfumes  on  zephyrs  lightly  borne. 

A  form  aerial  from  the  spirit  land 
Bade  me  a  message  to  thine  ear  impart, 
Of  import  solemn ;  deign  me  audience  then, 
Brother  beloved  !  and  she  will  guide  thy  bark 
On  life's  tempestuous  wave — a  pleasing  task. 
Her  name  is  Hope — twin  sister  of  sweet  Peace — 
An  amaranthine  wreath  she  brought,  so  twined 
That  frost  of  age  may  never  blight  its  flowers, 
And  bade  me  place  it  on  thy  youthful  brow. 
There  was  a  tear-drop  in  her  wild  blue  eye 
While  thus  she  spake,  "  It  is  not  mine  to  draw 
The  dark,  dark  veil  that  shrouds  futurity. 
Clouds,  dark,  portentous  clouds  may  gather  o'er 
That  sky  now  radiant  with  the  light  of  joy, 
Yet  shall  one  star  his  beacon  ever  be 
Whose  light  they  may  not  quench — I  am  that  star." 
She  said,  then  slowly  faded  from  my  sight, — 


96  MISCELLANEOUS. 

Yet  softly  whispered,  "  What  I  have  revealed, 
Haste  to  disclose,  thy  mission  well  befits 
A  morn  like  this ;  I  can  no  more ;   farewell !" 
Her  parting  accents  scarce  her  lips  had  passed, 
When  swift  I  flew  to  thee  :     My  tale  is  told. 

I  know  that  thoughts  of  loved  ones  far  away 
Steal  o'er  thee  now,  and  theirs,  too,  turn  to  thee 
From  that  far  western  home,  around  whose  fire 
Thy  parents  sit,  and  thy  loved  sister  fair, 
On  whose  bright  cheek  the  rose  and  lily  bloom, 
And  sigh  for  thee,  loved  brother  and  loved  son, 
And  fondly  wish  that  thou  wert  there  to-day. 
Now,  cease,  my  harp — the  muse  impatient  flies — 
Yet  stays  a  moment  one  kind  wish  to  breathe  ; — 
A  happy  New-year !  and  when  life's  last  ray 
Shall  set  for  ever,  and  thy  pulseless  heart 
Lie  cold  and  still  beneath  the  silent  tomb, 
Oh  !   may  thy  spirit  wing  its  flight  to  Heaven ! 


MISCELLANEOUS.  97 


LINES      FOR      AN      ALBUM. 

I  DREAMED  that  near  a  glassy  lake 
At  moonlight's  hour  I  strayed, 

And  sat  me  down  to  muse  alone 
Beneath  a  quiet  shade. 

A  little  bark  with  sail  unfurled 

Swept  o'er  the  silver  tide, 
And  scarcely  had  a  moment  passed 

When  thou  wert  by  my  side. 

My  hand  was  quickly  clasped  in  thine, 

I  looked  upon  thy  face, 
Each  feature  as  I  viewed  it  then 

My  fancy  yet  can  trace. 

There  was  a  pale  blue  flower  that  grew 

In  that  secluded  spot, 
Thou  bad'st  me  wear  it  near  my  heart, 

Its  name — Forget  me  not. 


98  MISCELLANEOUS. 


THE     FAREWELL     OF     THE     FLOWER     SPIRIT 

I  HAVE  come  from  the  green  isles  far  away, 
Where  the  skies  are  bright  and  the  soft  winds  play  ; 
Where  I  fold  my  wings  'neath  the  olive  shade, 
And  look  upon  flowers  that  never  fade. 

Yet  I  often  to  other  climes  repair, 
And  sleep  on  the  breast  of  the  rose-bud  fair ; 
I  stamp  the  rich  glow  on  its  dewy  lip, 
And  give  it  the  fragrance  you  love  to  sip. 

But  when  from  the  north  comes  the  chilly  blast, 
Which  reminds  me  that  summer  days  are  past ; 
When  a  snowy  mantle  is  spread  o'er  the  plain, 
I  turn  to  my  own  verdant  isles  again. 

Thou  knowest  me  not — yet  when  thou  hast  slept, 
I've  long  o'er  thy  slumbers  a  vigil  kept ; 
Thou  hast  felt  on  thy  cheek  the  young  zephyr's  sigh, 
But  its  perfume  was  sent  by  a  spirit  nigh. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  99 

The  flowers  have  gone — I  have  tarried  to  say 

That  for  thee  they  bloomed  through  their  short-lived  day ; 

And  they  spoke  to  thee  on  the  breath  of  even, 

Of  the  Amaranth  flowers  in  the  starry  Heaven. 


LINES    TO     GEN.     SCOTT. 

HAIL,  son  of  Columbia !  the  patriot  flame 
Burns  bright  in  each  breast  while  we  tell  of  thy  fame  ; 
We  have  heard  of  the  deeds  thou  so  nobly  hast  done, 
We  have  heard  of  thy  battles  so  fearlessly  won. 

Thou  hast  carried  our  flag  to  a  far  distant  shore  ; 
See !  it  streams  from  the  towers  of  Juan  d'Ulloa ; 
And  the  eagle  hath  perched  on  those  battlements  high, 
To  rest  in  his  course  through  the  blue  vaulted  sky. 

When  the  war-cloud  hung  dark,  'twas  thy  voice  that 

inspired, 

And  the  hearts  of  thy  soldiers  with  energy  fired  ; 
The  foremost  in  battle,  the  fearless  in  fight, 
While  thy  sword  in  the  sunbeam  was  glittering  bright. 


100  MISCELLANEOUS. 

In  the  halls  of  Mont'zuma  now  revel  the  brave, 
"Tis  thine  arm  that  hath  conquered  the  Mexican  slave  ; 
Thou  hast  buried  thy  sword  in  the  enemy's  breast, 
They  quailed  at  thy  glance — thou  hast  laid  them  at  rest. 

A  prey  to  the  vultures  that  thirsted  for  gore, 
They  fell  by  the  town  of  St.  Juan  d'Ulloa ; 
And  the  raven's  wild  screech  will  their  requiem  be, 
While  around  them  is  floating  the  flag  of  the  free. 

The  bugle  is  hushed,  and  the  cannon's  loud  roar 
Shall  wake  thee  from  slumber  to  battle  no  more  ; 
Thy  hand  we  now  grasp,  and  we  hail  thee  with  pride, 
As  we  would  all  the  heroes  who  fought  by  thy  side. 

Yes,  welcome,  thrice  welcome,  again  and  again  ! 
With  transport  unbounded  we  echo  the  strain  ; 
Thy  triumphs  so  glorious,  shall  ne'er  be  forgot — 
Hurrah  for  the  patriot  General  Scott ! 

CHORUS. 

Hark !  hark !  what  merry  shouts  of  joy 

Proclaim  a  conqueror  near ; 
He  comes,  a  noble  hero  comes, 

Oh,  bid  him  welcome  here. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  101 

Brave  General,  thou  hast  nobly  fought, 

Rest  from  thy  toils  awhile  ; 
Thy  native  land  her  arms  extends, 

And  greets  thee  with  a  smile. 

Yes,  sheathe  thy  sword,  for  gentle  peace 

Her  silvery  wings  hath  spread, 
Where  thou  to  meet  thy  country's  foe, 

A  fearless  band  hast  led. 

Hurrah,  hurrah,  for  General  Scott, 

His  name  we'll  proudly  sing ; 
The  north,  the  south,  the  east,  the  west, 

Shall  with  his  triumph  ring. 


MY     PRAIRIE     FLOWERS. 

MY  prairie  flowers  !  my  prairie  flowers  ! 

Oh  !  they  are  dear  to  me  ; 
They  grew  beside  thy  western  home, 

And  gathered  were  by  thee. 


102  MISCELLANEOUS. 

My  prairie  flowers !  my  prairie  flowers  ! 

We'll  never,  never  part ; 
But  when  I'm  lone  and  desolate, 

I'll  wear  them  near  my  heart. 

And  they  will  my  companions  be, 
The  flowers  I  love  so  dear ; 

And  they  will  often  speak  to  me, 
For  their  spirit  hovers  near. 

My  prairie  flowers !  my  prairie  flowers  ! 

They  may  glad  another's  eye  ; 
But  can't  be  loved  as  I  love  them, 

With  me  then  let  them  die. 


ON     HEARING     A     DESCRIPTION     OF     A 
PRAIRIE  . 

OH  !  could  I  see  as  thou  hast  seen, 

The  garden  of  the  west, 
When  Spring  in  all  her  loveliness 

Fair  nature's  face  has  dressed. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  103 

The  rolling  prairie,  vast  and  wild ! 

It  hath  a  charm  for  me — 
Its  tall  grass  waving  to  the  breeze, 

Like  billows  on  the  sea. 

Say,  hast  thou  chased  the  bounding  deer 

When  smiled  the  rosy  morn  ? 
Or  hast  thou  listened  to  the  sound 

Of  the  merry  hunter's  horn  ? 

Once  could  the  noble  red-man  call 

That  prairie  wild  his  home ; — 
His  cabin  now  in  ruins  laid, 

He  must  an  exile  roam, 

And  thou  at  twilight's  pensive  hour, 
Perchance  hast  seen  him  weep  ; — 

Tread  lightly  o'er  the  hallowed  spot, 
For  there  his  kindred  sleep. 

I  envy  not  the  opulent 

His  proud  and  lordly  dome ; 
Far  happier  is  the  pioneer 

Who  seeks  a  prairie  home ; — 


104  MISCELLANEOUS. 

Where  no  discordant  notes  are  beard, 

But  all  is  harmony ; 
Where  soars  aloft  unfettered  thought, 

And  the  heart  beats  light  and  free. 


HENRY      CLAY. 

IT  comes,  it  swells,  it  breaks  upon  the  ear  ; 
Millions  have  caught  the  spirit-stirring  sound  : — 
We,  too,  with  joy,  with  transport  uncontrolled, 
Would  in  the  chorus  of  our  city  join  : 
Thou  noblest  of  the  noble,  welcome  here  ! 
Noble  in  high  born  deeds  of  spotless  fame  : 
Yes,  in  behalf  of  those  who  o'er  us  watch, 
We  bid  thee  welcome  to  this  lovely  spot, 
Our  peaceful  home,  where  kindred  souls  are  knit 
In  one  sweet  bond  of  friendship  unalloyed. 
It  is  not  ours  thy  lineaments  to  trace, 
The  intellectual  brow,  the  flashing  eye 
Whose  glance  the  language  of  the  soul  portrays  ; 
But  fancy's  busy  hand  the  picture  draws, 


MISCELLANEOUS.  105 

And  with  a  smile,  the  glowing  sketch  presents 
To  hearts  that  with  anticipation  throb. 
How  have  we  longed  to  meet  thee,  thou  whose  voice, 
In  eloquence  resistless,  like  a  spell, 
Holds  e'en  a  nation  captive  to  its  powers ! 
Well  may  Columbia  of  her  son  be  proud. 
Firm  as  a  rock,  amid  conflicting  storms, 
Thou  by  her  side  hast  ever  fearless  stood, 
With  truth  thy  motto,  principle  thy  guide  ; 
And  thou  can'st  feel  as  rich  a  gem  is  thine, 
As  ever  graced  the  loftiest  monarch's  brow — 
A  nation's  honor,  and  a  nation's  love. 
O'er  Ashland  veiled  in  winter's  cheerless  night, 
Ere  long  will  steal  the  gentle  breath  of  spring ; 
And  thou  wilt  sit  among  the  shades  embowered 
Of  ancient  trees,  whose  giant  branches  wave 
Around  the  quiet  home  thou  lov'st  so  dear  ; 
The  winding  streamlet  on  whose  pearly  breast 
The  crescent  moon  reflects  her  silver  light, 
Will  murmur  on ;  and  when  the  blushing  morn 
Calls  nature  from  a  soft  and  dewy  sleep, 
The  birds  will  glad  thee  with  their  gushing  songs, 
So  sweetly  carolled  to  the  new-born  day. 
Once  more,  illustrious  statesman,  welcome  here ! 
Language  can  do  no  more — these  trembling  lips 
To  our  emotions  utterance  cannot  give, 
5* 


106  MISCELLANEOUS. 

Yet  we  would  ask,  ere  thou  from  us  depart, 
Oh !  let  thine  accents  greet  each  anxious  ear ; 
Speak,  we  entreat  thee,  but  one  parting  word, 
That  in  the  secret  chambers  of  the  heart 
May  live  the  memory  of  its  thrilling  tones, 
"When  he  who  uttered  them  is  far  away. 


TO     THE    PORTRAIT    OF     A     FRIEND 

I  AM  alone — the  busy  world 

Is  hushed  in  midnight's  deepest  sleep ; 
And  scarce  the  dark  blue  wave  is  curled, 

So  soft  the  breath  that  fans  the  deep. 

Far  rising  o'er  the  mountain  streams, 
Pale  Cynthia,  goddess  of  the  night, 

Now  faintly  through  my  lattice  gleams, 
And  o'er  a  portrait  throws  her  light. 

Familiar  seems  that  face  to  me, 

That  quiet  brow  and  glowing  cheek ; 

How  true  to  life,  oh  !  can  it  be, 

Those  lips  have  not  the  power  to  speak  ! 


MISCELLANEOUS.  107 

Oft  have  I  seen  that  hazel  eye 

With  animation  kindling  bright ; 
And  ere  a  moment  flitted  by 

Melt  to  a  softer,  calmer  light. 

I've  watched  its  varied  lustre  mild 

When  music  breathes  its  magic  strain  ; 

In  playful  mood  it  gaily  smiled, 
Then  'neath  its  lashes  hid  again. 

Farewell !  0  miniature,  farewell ! 

Soon  other  eyes  on  thee  will  gaze, 
And  kindred  hearts  with  transport  swell — 

Companions  of  his  boyhood  days. 

Thou  to  his  home  wilt  soon  be  moved, 

A  father's  and  a  mother's  tear  . 
O'er  thy  unconscious  cheek  beloved 

Will  flow,  thou  image  held  so  dear. 

With  what  delight  his  brothers  all 

Will  haste  his  miniature  to  see  ; 
A  lovely  sister  can  recall 

Each  feature  when  she  looks  on  thee. 


108  MISCELLANEOUS. 

I  must  resign  thee,  fare  thee  well ! 
Soon  other  eyes  on  thee  will  gaze ; 

And  kindred  hearts  with  transport  swell- 
Companions  of  his  boyhood  days. 


A     C  OL  LO  QUY . 

MRS.    S.,   MISS   ELIZA  KEAN,    AND  MISS  AMELIA  ST.    CLAIR. 

The    School  Room. 

AMELIA.   I'm  vexed !  I  hate  arithmetic  ! 

To  learn  it  I've  tried  in  vain  ; 
I've  really  half  a  mind  to  say, 

I'll  never,  never  try  again. 
My  brain  is  quite  distracted  now, 
This  horrid  sum  I  cannot  do ; 
'Tis  far  too  intricate  for  me, 

And  Mr.  Howard  knows  it  too. 
ELIZA.       You  little  termagant !  and  so 

You  hate  arithmetic  you  say, 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


109 


But  what,  Amelia,  would  you  do 

Were  you  to  study  Algebra  ? 
AMELIA.   Talk  not  of  Algebra  to  me. 
ELIZA.  Now  don't  begin  to  scold  again ; 

Why  to  the  study  you're  averse, 

If  you  will  listen  I'll  explain  ; 
You  do  not  clearly  comprehend 

The  puzzling  rule  of  three,  you  know, 
The  parts  you  understand  you  like, 

And  you  have  often  told  me  so ; 
I  will  admit  'tis  rather  hard, 

But  don't  condemn  'till  understood. 
MRS.  S.     Ah !  quite  a  lecture,  to  be  sure. 

I  own  the  arguments  are  good. 
ELIZA.       Amelia,  you  must  persevere, 

Work  earnestly  and  faithfully  ; 
Try  once,  twice,  thrice,  and  if  you  fail, 

Make  other  efforts — three  times  three ; 
And  if  these  efforts  prove  in  vain, 

Continue  on  till  four  times  four ; 
If  still,  be  not  discouraged  yet, 

Add  five  times  twenty  or  six  score. 

Enter  MESSRS.  THEODORE  LORAINE  AND  HOWARD  JR. 

MR.  LORAINE.   Why  what's  the  matter,  Mrs.  S., 

A  warm  discussion  I  have  heard  ? 
(To  AMELIA.)  How  goes  Arithmetic  ? 


110  MISCELLANEOUS. 

AMELIA.  Oh  dear  ! 

I  from  my  heart  detest  the  word. 
MRS.  S.     How  now,  Amelia,  pouting  still, 

And  throwing  all  advice  away  ? — 
Come,  come,  my  child,  be  vexed  no  more, 

You  do  not  mean  one  half  you  say. 
MR.  HOWARD.  If  we  our  talents  misimprove, 

We  have  ourselves  alone  to  blame ; 
I,  Mrs.  S.,  appeal  to  you, 

And  Mr.  Theodore  Loraine. 
ELIZA.       I  like  arithmetic  the  best 

Of  all  the  studies  I  pursue  ; 
What  beauty  there's  in  Algebra  ! 
Music  in  plus  and  minus  too  ; 
In  co-efficients,  index,  all, 

What  do  you  think  of  such  a  term  ? 
I  mean  to  preach  till  you  resolve 

That  Algebra  with  me  you'll  learn. 
MRS.  S.      Hold  to  it,  Lizzy. 
ELIZA.  So  I  will. 

MR.  LORAINE.  Amelia  soon  will  like  it  well. 
MR.  HOWARD.  I  think  our  recess  time  is  up, 

So  now  I'll  go  and  ring  the  bell.     (Exit.) 
AMELIA.  Hear  me,  my  dearest  Mrs.  S., 

I  feel  the  force  of  all  you  say, 

And  from  this  moment  I  will  strive 

Your  kindly  precepts  to  obey. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  Ill 


(To  ELIZA.)  I  can't  resist  your  arguments, 

But  may  I  on  your  aid  depend  ? 

ELIZA.  With  pleasure  all  I  can  I'll  do, — 

But  now  to  history  we'll  attend. 


NEW    H  AVEN. 

0  CITY  OF  ELMS  !  in  my  day-dreams  of  bliss, 

I  have  smiled  at  the  fabric  my  free  fancy  wove  ; 
But  ne'er  did  I  feel  such  a  transport  as  this, 

Inspired  by  thy  beauty,  and  heightened  by  love. 

1  have  stood  where  the  cataract  thundered  afar, 

I  have  felt  its  proud  waters  the  solid  earth  shake  ; 
I  have  watched  the  soft  light  of  a  beautiful  star, 
That  trembled  at  eve  o'er  Ontario's  lake. 

I  have  looked  on  the  Hudson  majestic  and  bright, 
When  the  foam-crested  waves  with  each  other  would 
play, 

I  have  seen  them  roll  on  in  their  grandeur  and  might, 
Till  at  length  they  were  lost  in  the  wide-spreading  bay. 


112  MISCELLANEOUS. 

But  now  my  tired  spirit  hath  folded  her  wings, 
To  rest  on  the  bosom  of  nature  awhile  ; 

Where  the  note  that  the  song-bird  so  merrily  rings 
In  the  sunshine  of  gladness,  her  care  shall  beguile. 

• 

0  City  of  Elms !  in  thy  green  shaded  bowers, 

With  feelings  of  rapture  too  happy  to  last, 

1  have  wandered,  and  wished  that  the  innocent  flowers 

Could  lend  to  the  future  the  hues  of  the  past. 

O  City  of  Elms !  ever  sacred  shall  be 

The  ties  that  have  drawn  thee  so  close  to  my  heart ; 
And  often  in  thought  will  I  wander  to  thee — 

The  pride  of  New  England,  New  Haven,  thou  art. 

Thou  hast  made  me  feel  happy,  as  happy  can  be — 
A  tide  of  emotions  my  soul  overwhelms  ; 

May  everything  noble,  pure,  generous,  and  free, 
Make  thee  happy,  New  Haven,  thou  City  of  Elms  ! 


MISCELLANEOUS.  113 


LINES     WRITTEN      ON      INDEPENDENCE      DAY. 

COLUMBIA  !  awake  in  thy  strength  and  thy  might ! 

'Tis  the  birth-day  of  freedom — oh  !   welcome  its  light. 

Now  peals  the  loud  cannon  along  our  green  shore  ; 

'Tis  the  signal  of  peace,  and  we  fear  it  no  more. 

The  Eagle  hath  come  from  his  bleak  mountain  home, 

He  hath  dipped  his  bright  wings  in  the  blue  ocean's  foam, 

And  hath  perched  on  a  tree  that  for  ever  shall  bloom — 

Wo,  wo  to  the  hand  that  would  ruffle  his  plume. 

But  what  is  that  sound,  like  the  wind  harp  of  Eden, 

That  echoes  so  sweetly  the  music  of  Heaven  ? 

How  softly  its  breathings  are  heard  in  the  air — 

Now  mark  we  the  warning — Columbia,  beware ! 

'Tis  a  voice  from  Mount  Vernon — a  voice  from  the  grave 

Of  the  hero  who  struggled  our  country  to  save  ; 

Now  fainter,  still  fainter,  that  warning  we  hear, 

Like  an  angel's  soft  whisper  it  dies  on  the  ear. 

Oh !  cease,  ye  false  prophets  who  vauntingly  say 

That  the  star  of  our  freedom  is  passing  away  ; 

Ye  may  weave  your  dark  spells  till  exhausted  your  powers, 

If  the  union  be  broken  the  work  must  be  ours. 

We  are  bound  by  a  link  which  no  tyrant  can  burst ; — 


114  MISCELLANEOUS. 

Shall  we  crush  the  dear  hopes  that  so  long  we  have  nursed  ? 

Though  your  poisonous  arrows  around  us  be  cast, 

Our  rights  we'll  defend — and  defend  to  the  last. 

For  our  fathers  departed  a  chaplet  we'll  weave, 

Of  fresh-gathered  laurels  to  lay  on  their  grave ; 

The  tear  of  affection  shall  be  shed  o'er  their  urn, 

And  the  flame  they  once  kindled  for  ever  shall  burn. 

'Tis  the  birth-day  of  freedom  !  Columbia,  arise  ! 

Let  the  sound  of  rejoicing  ascend  to  the  skies. 

Our  navy,*  exulting,  repeats  the  glad  sound, 

And  we  list  to  the  echo  that's  revelling  around, 

Hail,  North  Carolina  !    huzza  for  thy  crew  ! 

With  their  soul-sparkling  eyes,   and  hearts  gallant  and 

true ; 

If  called  by  their  country  in  battle  to  stand, 
The  sword  they  would  wield  with  a  bold,  daring  hand. 
The  Flag  of  our  Union,  the  flag  of  the  free  ! 
Unfurled  in  proud  triumph  o'er  land  and  o'er  sea ; 
The  Flag  of  our  Union  !  long,  long  may  it  wave  ! 
And  herald  the  deeds  of  the  peerless  and  brave. 

*  The  navy  was  represented  by  the  "  North  Carolina,"  lying 
opposite  the  city. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  115 


A     REVERY. 

AM  I  sleeping,  am  I  waking  ? — 
Hath  my  spirit  winged  her  flight 

To  some  pure  and  blissful  region, 
Bathed  in  soft  and  silvery  light  ? 

Am  I  sleeping,  am  I  waking  ? — 

Whence  these  sounds  that  greet  my  ear  ? 
Come  they  on  the  midnight  zephyr, 

Wafted  from  some  distant  sphere  ? 

Minstrel !  o'er  my  wild  harp  bending, 
I  would  touch  its  chords  for  thee  ; 

Yet  its  tones  are  but  the  echo 
Of  thine  own  sweet  minstrelsy. 

Thou  hast  well  deserved  the  chaplet 
Which  for  thee  I  proudly  twine, 

Laurels  from  Castalia's  fountain 
Well  may  grace  a  brow  like  thine. 


116  MISCELLANEOUS. 


PRAYER. 

GOD  heareth  prayer — whether  in  secret  place 
Or  in  his  sacred  courts  it  matters  not. 
Where  two  or  three  are  gathered  in  his  name, 
There  will  he  deign  to  meet  them  and  to  bless. 
God  heareth  prayer ; — Oh  !  thou  desponding  one, 
When  dark  temptation's  cloud  o'erspreads  thy  soul, 
Turn  from  the  busy  and  the  giddy  throng, 
Haste  thou  to  nature's  solitude — commune 
With  thy  own  heart,  and  humbly  bend  thy  knee, 
For  in  that  hour,  thy  God  will  hear  thy  prayer. 
It  was  the  close  of  summer,  yet  the  breeze 
Went  idly  by  as  if  it  feared  to  break 
The  stillness  of  a  day  so  beautiful ; 
And  in  the  blue  expanse  rich  golden  clouds 
In  graceful  motion  floated  to  and  fro, 
And  seemed  like  purest  spirits  of  the  blest. 
The  reaper's  work  was  done — o'er  widespread  plains 
No  longer  waved  the  sheaves  of  ripened  grain ; 
His  hand  a  plenteous  store  had  gathered  in, 
And  now  his  grateful  heart  was  turned  to  God. 
Beyond  the  precincts  of  a  growing  town, 


MISCELLANEOUS.  11*7 

There  was  an  ancient  wood,  whose  giant  oaks 
The  wintry  storms  of  centuries  had  braved, 
Their  gnarled  branches  still  extended  far 
Along  the  margin  of  a  quiet  stream. 
For  months  no  sound  was  heard  save  pleasant  notes 
Of  singing  birds,  that  from  those  lofty  boughs 
Warbled  their  vesper  or  their  matin  lay. 
But  now  a  spacious  altar  there  was  reared, 
And  tent  on  tent  the  sacred  spot  inclosed, 
Where  gathered  thousands  congregate  to  pray. 
Their  eyes  are  now  directed  to  the  place 
Where  the  loved  pastor  stands — their  ears  intent 
To  catch  the  message  from  Jehovah's  throne. 
He  was  a  man  of  three  score  years  and  ten, 
His  cheek  was  furrowed,  and  his  hoary  locks 
White  with  the  frost  which  age  had  sprinkled  o'er  ; 
His  voice,  though  tremulous,  to  silence  awed 
The  most  unmindful  in  that  numerous  throng. 
And  now  the  holy  book  of  God  he  oped 
And  read  the  solemn  words,  "  Come  unto  me, 
Ye  heavy  laden !  I  will  give  you  rest ; — 
My  yoke  is  easy,  and  my  burden  light !" 
He  knelt  to  pray,  and  in  impassioned  tones 
Pleaded  for  mercy  from  the  Omnipotent. 
Stout  hearts  were  melted,  and  convulsive  sobs 
Told  that  the  Holy  Ghost  was  there, 


118  MISCELLANEOUS. 

Exerting  influence  divine ; — again, 

The  sermon  closed,  he  knelt  in  prayer  and  said, 

"  Father,  if  thou  hast  here  a  work  begun, 

Oh  !  grant  a  glorious  issue — like  a  God. 

These  humble  penitents  before  thee  bless — 

These  wandering  sheep  restore — these  sinners  save, 

Glory  to  thee  for  what  these  ears  have  heard  ! 

Glory  to  thee  for  what  these  eyes  have  seen !" 

He  paused,  then  hid  his  face  and  silent  wept. 

'Twas  evening,  and  as  one  by  one  the  stars 

Lit  up  the  cloudless  firmament  on  high, 

I  seemed  to  see  the  star  of  Bethlehem 

Refulgent  there  with  his  benignant  rays. 

I  turned  away  reluctant  from  the  scene, 

And  thought  how  soon  that  herald  of  the  cross 

Would  sleep  beneath  the  cold  and  silent  tomb, 

Yet  felt  assured  that  Paul-like  he  could  say, 

"  For  me  to  live  is  Christ — to  die  is  gain  !" 


MISCELLANEOUS.  119 


TO     ANNIE. 


I'M  gazing  on  the  moonlit  sky — 
Would  I  could  say  with  tearless  eye — 
While  pensive  thoughts  my  bosom  fill, 
I  ask,  am  I  remembered  still  ? 
Mine  are  the  hallowed  sweets  of  home, 
O'er  nature's  rural  scenes  I  roam, 
My  health  preserved,  my  spirits  light — 
Can  aught  my  pure  enjoyment  blight  1 
Yes,  there  are  moments  when  the  past 
By  memory  o'er  my  soul  is  cast ; 
Feelings  intense  my  bosom  fill — 
I  ask,  am  I  remembered  still  ? 
I  have  been  called  with  those  to  part 
Who  were  the  idols  of  my  heart, 
And  as  the  last  adieus  were  spoken 
Have  felt  that  that  poor  heart  was  broken. 
I  will  not  paint — thou  know'st  too  well 
The  anguish  of  that  word,  farewell. 
While  thoughts  like  these  my  bosom  fill, 
I  ask  am  I  remembered  still  ? 


120  MISCELLANEOUS. 

Time  cannot  change  a  heart  like  mine — 
Let  not  protracted  absence  thine  ; 
For  friendship  that  is  born  on  high, 
Can  time  and  absence  both  defy. 


A  VISION. 

I  STOOD  upon  the  summit  of  a  hill, 

Beneath  me  rolled  Potomac's  waters  dark  ; 

It  was  the  hour  of  midnight — all  was  still — 
When,  lo !  before  me  rose  a  stately  bark ; 

Its  starry  banner  to  the  breeze  unfurled, 

While  freshening  gales  the  dancing  waters  curled. 

The  scene  was  changed — a  storm  swept  hoarsely  by, 
The  stars  were  covered  with  a  sable  pall ; 

The  lightnings  flashed,  the  thunder  rent  the  sky, 
Potomac  answered  to  the  fearful  call. 

Around  that  bark  the  surges  madly  break, 

But  the  brave  bark  no  other  course  will  take. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  121 

Onward  she  flew,  and  with  exulting  pride, 

Dashed  back  the  waves  that  rushed  to  overwhelm  ; 

Onward  she  flew  amid  the  boiling  tide, 
For  lo !  an  angel  form  was  at  the  helm ; 

His  brow  was  lofty  and  his  eye  serene, 

Calmly  he  looked  upon  that  troubled  scene. 

The  tempest  ceased — the  lovely  queen  of  night 
Looked  forth  upon  the  sleeping  earth  once  more ; 

And  studded  with  its  gems  of  golden  light, 
The  sky  a  coronet  of  beauty  wore ; 

Hushed  was  the  tumult  of  that  raging  storm, 

And  straight  before  me  stood  that  angel  form. 

"  Fear  not,"  he  cried,  "  though  mighty  thunders  crash, 
And  fiercely  darts  the  lightning's  vivid  ray ; 

Though  tempest  rend,  the  waves  impetuous  dash, 
That  gallant  bark  shall  onward  hold  her  way. 

Its  stars  and  stripes  shall  float  o'er  every  sea, 

Bearing  the  motto — Union — Liberty. 

"  Though  party  feuds  presage  approaching  ill, 
They  shall  not  sever  freedom's  sacred  chain  ; 

While  Moultrie's  fort  exists  or  Bunker's  Hill 
Its  sacred  links  unbroken  shall  remain ; 


122  MISCELLANEOUS. 

Dissolve  the  Union !  then  may  hope  expire, 
And  Liberty  to  other  lands  retire. 

"  Columbia  !  ere  a  deed  so  rash  be  done, 
From  all  the  annals  of  thy  former  fame 

Blot  every  memory  of  thy  Washington  ; 

'T would  be  his  wish  when  powerless  his  name. 

He  comes  to  warn  thee  from  the  realms  of  light"- 

The  spirit  paused,  then  vanished  from  my  sight. 


SABBATH     EVENING. 

Lo  !  the  setting  sun  is  stealing 

Softly  through  the  clustering  vines  ; 

On  the  spirit  sweet  peace  sealing, 
As  this  Sabbath  day  declines. 

Lovely  spot,  oh,  sacred  hour, 
Day  of  all  our  days  the  best ; 

Weakening  the  tempter's  power, 
Pointing  to  the  promised  rest. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  123 

While  we  watch  thy  fading  splendor, 

Thou  adorner  of  the  skies, 
May  we  all  our  hearts  surrender 

To  the  God  who  bade  thee  rise. 


LINES    ON    THE     DEATH     OP     GEN.     TAYLOR, 

A  WAIL  is  in  the  Capitol, 

A  wail  of  anguish  deep, 
That  startles  with  a  fearful  sound 

The  night  wind  from  its  sleep. 
The  brave  old  oak  hath  bowed  its  head, 

A  victim  to  the  blast ; 
Death  holds  within  his  conquering  arm 

The  conqueror  at  last. 

There's  mourning  in  the  Capitol, 

With  slow  and  solemn  tread 
Go  hang  with  weeds  of  cypress  now 

The  chambers  of  the  dead. 


124  MISCELLANEOUS. 

Ye  may  not  speak  at  such  a  time, 

But  gaze  in  mute  despair ; 
Ye  would  but  mock  those  weeping  ones 

Who  kneel  heart-broken  there. 

A  gloom  is  in  the  Capitol, 

And  like  a  dismal  pall, 
It  must,  with  melancholy  hue, 

On  the  whole  nation  fall. 
For  she  will  see  the  radiant  gem 

Which  she  so  proudly  wore, 
Drop  from  her  brilliant  coronet, 

To  sparkle  there  no  more. 

Oh !  Taylor !  thou  hast  nobly  won 

A  hero's  deathless  name  ; 
But  what  to  thee  are  titles  now  ? — 

What  honor,  rank,  or  fame  1 
Where  thou  did'st  raise  thy  country's  flag, 

In  triumph  it  shall  wave  ; 
But  all  thy  glorious  deeds  must  end 

Untimely  in  the  grave. 

'Tis  sweet  to  think  that  with  thine  own 
Was  breathed  thy  latest  sigh ; 


MISCELLANEOUS.  125 

What  comfort  in  thy  parting  words — 

"  I  am  prepared  to  die." 
The  storms  of  battle  thou  hast  braved, 

And  many  a  conflict  passed  ; 
Now  peaceful  in  thy  native  land 

Thine  eyes  are  closed  at  last. 

A  warning  from  the  Capitol, 

A  deep  sepulchral  sound ! 
List  to  the  mournful  requiem 

With  solemn  awe  profound. 
Nor  let  the  turbid,  restless  tide 

Of  party  feeling  flow  ; 
He  was  a  Nation's  President, 

Be  ours  a  Nation's  woe. 


126  MISCELLANEOUS. 


THE     NEGLECTED     FLAGEOLET 

0  LET  it  silent  still  remain, 

And  my  unguarded  wish  forget ; 

1  know  its  tones  would  give  thee  pain, 

Then  lay  aside  the  flageolet. 

Oft  hast  thou  heard  when  all  was  still, 
Its  pensive  carol  o'er  and  o'er ; 

But  now  thou  could'st  not  bear  its  thrill, 
For  he  who  woke  it  is  no  more. 

That  eye  is  dim,  that  voice  is  hushed, 
No  more  thy  well-known  step  he  hears ; 

Each  welcome  from  those  lips  that  gushed, 
His  memory  to  thy  soul  endears. 

I  would  not  wring  thy  aching  heart, 
With  e'en  one  pang  of  keen  regret ; 

And  yet  how  thoughtless  my  request- 
Then  lay  aside  the  flageolet. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  127 

The  lapse  of  years  perchance  may  heal 

The  anguish  of  a  broken  heart ; 
The  fountain  of  its  grief  may  seal, 

And  scalding  tears  may  cease  to  start. 

Yet  touch  some  dear  one's  favorite  air, 
Whose  image  we  can  ne'er  forget ; 

The  wounded  bosom  bleeds  again — 
Then  lay  aside  the  flageolet. 


SERENADE. 


QUEEN  of  the  night !  oh,  watch  o'er  his  slumbers, 

Fold  ye  around  him,  bright  seraphs  !  your  wings  ; 
Soothing  and  sweet,  gentle  harp,  be  thy  numbers, 

Lightly,  oh,  lightly,  we  waken  thy  strings. 
Midnight  around  him  her  mantle  is  throwing, 

Nature  her  tears  o'er  the  violet  weeps ; 
Pure  as  the  gush  of  the  fountain  is  flowing 

Music's  soft  cadence,  he  sleeps,  he  sleeps. 


128  MISCELLANEOUS. 

When  o'er  the  deep  his  proud  bark  is  flying, 

Star  of  the  ocean !    watch  o'er  him  there  ; 
Bid  the  soft  gale  in  its  tenderness  sighing, 

Whisper  of  hope  and  dispel  every  care. 
Midnight  around  him  her  mantle  is  throwing, 

Nature  her  tears  o'er  the  violet  weeps  ; 
Pure  as  the  gush  of  the  fountain  is  flowing 

Music's  soft  cadence,  he  sleeps,  he  sleeps. 


VOICE     OF     THE     FLOWERS 

YE  have  a  kind  voice,  sweet  flowers  ! 

Of  pure  angelic  tone ; 
It  has  no  echo  in  greenwood  bowers, 

But  speaks  to  the  heart  alone. 

Ye  have  looked  on  the  blush  of  day, 

And  stolen  its  rosy  hue ; 
But  the  fountain  and  song-bird's  lay 

Are  silent,  alas  !  to  you. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  129 

No  clambering  vines  caress 

Your  artless  forms  so  fair ; 
Your  velvet  leaves  are  motionless, 

For  beauty  is  sleeping  there. 

And  the  flower-spirit  hovers  near, 

And  bears  on  its  dove-like  wing, 
A  gem  that  was  once  a  pearly  tear 

On  the  infant  cheek  of  spring. 

Ye  have  a  sad  voice,  sweet  flowers ! 

That  whispers  of  quick  decay  ; 
The  garlands  worn  in  happiest  hours 

Are  the  soonest  to  pass  away. 

I  know  that  the  frost  of  death 

Ere  long  will  silently  chill ; 
But  the  fragrance  exhaling  now 

Will  linger  around  me  still. 

And  thus  doth  a  smile,  the  last 

By  the  lips  of  a  fond  friend  given, 
A  fragrance  shed  though  that  friend  hath  passed 

To  his  home  in  the  starry  heaven. 


130  MISCELLANEOUS. 


THE     BLIND     GIRL. 

HER  home  was  near  an  ancient  wood, 
Where  many  an  oak  gigantic  stood  ; 
And  fragrant  flowers  of  every  hue 
In  that  sequestered  valley  grew. 
A  church  there  reared  its  little  spire, 
And  in  their  neat  and  plain  attire, 
The  humble  peasants  would  repair, 
On  Sabbath  morn,  to  worship  there  ; 
And  on  the  laughing  breeze  would  float 
The  merry  warblers'  choral  note ; 
When  at  Aurora's  rosy  dawn 
Was  decked  with  light  the  dewy  lawn. 
A  pearly  stream  meandered  there, 
And  on  its  verdant  banks  so  fair, 
From  school  released  at  close  of  day 
A  group  of  happy  girls  would  play. 
With  their  gay  laugh  the  woodlands  rang, 
Or  if  some  rustic  air  they  sang, 
Those  rural  notes  of  music  sweet 
Echo  would  in  her  tones  repeat. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  131 

Amid  those  scenes  of  mirth  and  glee 

Where  was  the  sightless  girl  ?  was  she 

Blithely  as  others  sporting  there, 

Or  wreathing  garlands  for  her  hair  ? 

She  sat  beside  her  cottage  door, 

Her  brow  a  pensive  sadness  wore ; 

And  while  she  listened  to  the  song 

That  issued  from  that  youthful  throng, 

The  warm  tears  gushing  down  her  cheeks 

Spoke  what  no  other  language  speaks  ; 

While  their  young  hearts  were  light  and  gay 

Her  hours  passed  heavily  away ; 

A  mental  night  was  o'er  her  thrown, 

She  seemed  dejected  and  alone  ; — 

Yet  no  !  a  mother's  accents  dear 

Oft  fell  upon  that  blind  girl's  ear. 

While  all  were  locked  in  dreamy  sleep, 

The  mother  o'er  her  couch  would  weep, 

And  as  she  knelt  in  silence  there, 

Would  breathe  to  God  her  fervent  prayer, 

That  he,  all  merciful  and  mild, 

Would  bless  her  solitary  child. 

'Twas  eve — the  summer's  sun  was  bright, 
The  crescent  moon  unveiled  her  light, 
And  many  a  mild  and  radiant  star 


132  MISCELLANEOUS. 

Its  lustre  spread  o'er  climes  afar. 
That  mother  to  her  throbbing  breast 
Her  lovely  daughter  fondly  pressed, 
She  on  her  bosom  leaned  her  head, 
And  thus  in  mournful  accents  said — 
"  Tell  me,  dear  mother,  what  is  sight  ? — 
I  hear  you  say  the  stars  are  bright, 
In  yonder  sky  of  azure  hue  ; 
Oh  !  that  I  could  behold  them  too ! 
You  tell  me  of  the  summer  flowers 
That  blossom  in  the  greenwood  bowers  ; 
Their  balmy  breath  is  sweet  to  me, 
And  shall  I  ne'er  their  beauty  see  ?" 
Here  Anna  paused,  her  mother  sighed, 
Then  in  a  low,  sweet  voice  replied : 
"  On  earth  those  joys  may  ne'er  be  thine  ; 
But  why,  my  child,  why  thus  repine  ? 
'Tis  thy  Almighty  Father's  will, 
Command  thy  murmuring  heart  be  still  ; 
There  is  a  fairer  world  than  this, 
A  world  of  never-fading  bliss ; 
There  let  thy  heart,  thy  treasure  be, 
And  thou  its  purer  joys  shalt  see." 

The  summer  and  the  autumn's  past, 
And  wildly  blows  the  winter  blast. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  133 

'Twas  midnight,  nature  slept  profound, 
Unbroken  stillness  reigned  around, 
Save  in  one  little  cottage  where 
Was  heard  a  dying  mother's  prayer. 
"  O  God  !  my  helpless  orphan  see, 
She  hath  no  other  friend  but  thee  ; 
She  friendless  on  the  world  is  thrown, 
Sightless,  heart-broken,  and  alone. 
Father,  all  merciful  and  mild, 
Protect  my  solitary  child  !" 
One  last  farewell  that  mother  breathed, 
One  parting  sigh  her  bosom  heaved, 
And  all  was  over,  she  had  fled 
To  mingle  with  the  uncounted  dead. 

The  dreary  winter  passed  away — 
The  spring  returned,  and  all  was  gay  ; 
O'er  hill,  o'er  vale,  o'er  verdant  plain, 
The  warbling  choir  was  heard  again. 
But  not  the  spring's  most  cheerful  voice 
Could  make  that  orphan's  heart  rejoice. 
Her  mother's  grave  was  near  her  cot, 
And  Anna  to  that  lonely  spot, 
Though  blind,  would  solitary  stray, 
To  kiss  the  turf  that  pressed  her  clay. 


134  MISCELLANEOUS. 

'Twas  evening's  melancholy  hour, 
Cool  zephyrs  fanned  each  passing  hour  ; 
O'er  her  soft  lute  her  fingers  ran, 
And  thus  her  mournful  lay  began  ; — 
"  Alas  !  how  bitter  is  my  lot, 

Without  a  friend,  without  a  home  ; 
Alone,  unpitied,  and  forgot, 

A  sightless  orphan  must  I  roam. 
Where  is  that  gentle  mother  now 

Who  once  so  fondly  on  me  smiled  ? 
Whose  kiss  I  felt  upon  my  brow, 

As  in  her  arms  she  clasped  her  child. 
I  could  not  see  that  angel  eye, 

Suffused  with  many  a  bitter  tear  ; 
But  oh  !  her  deep,  heart-rending  sigh, 

Stole  mournful  on  my  listening  ear. 
I  knelt  beside  her  dying  bed, 

I  felt  her  last  expiring  breath ; 
'  God  guide  my  child,'  she  faintly  said, 

Then  closed  those  lovely  eyes  in  death. 
Oh !  how  I  long  to  soar  away 

To  that  blessed  place  where  she  doth  dwell  ; 
To  join  with  her  the  choral  lay, 

Angelic  choirs  for  ever  swell." 

She  ceased,  she  heard  a  footstep  near, 


^MISCELLANEOUS.  135 

A  voice  broke  gently  on  her  ear. 

"  Maiden  !  I've  heard  thy  tale  of  woe, 

More  of  thy  history  I  would  know  ; 

Oh,  tell  me  why  thy  youthful  brow 

Is  mantled  o'er  with  sadness  now  ?" 

"  Sir,"  she  replied,  "  well  may  I  weep, 

Beneath  this  little  mound  doth  sleep 

All  that  to  me  on  earth  was  dear  ; 

My  mother's  lifeless  form  lies  here, 

And  I,  her  only  child,  am  left 

Of  kindred  and  of  home  bereft. 

But  He  who  marks  the  sparrow's  fall, 

Will  hear  the  helpless  orphan's  call ; 

My  mother  bade  me  trust  His  care, 

He  will  not  leave  me  to  despair." 

The  stranger  sighed  ;  "  Dear  child,"  said  he, 

"  Thou  hast  my  warmest  sympathy  ; 

No  longer  friendless  shalt  thou  roam, 

I'll  take  thee  to  a  happier  home  ; 

A  home  erected  for  the  blind, 

Where  friends  affectionate  and  kind, 

Will  o'er  thee  watch  with  tender  care, 

And  wipe  away  the  orphan's  tear." 

"  Forgive  me,  sir,"  the  maiden  said, 

As  modestly  she  hung  her  head, 


136  MISCELLANEOUS- 

"  I  cannot  bear  to  leave  this  grave, 
Where  friendly  flowers  they  tell  me  wave  ; 
And  oh  !  while  here  I  sit  alone, 
And  listen  to  the  wind's  low  moan, 
Methinks  my  sainted  mother  dear, 
Smiles  on  me  from  the  starry  sphere  ; 
And  softly  then  she  seems  to  say, 
My  child,  my  darling,  come  away 
To  the  bright  mansion  where  I  dwell, 
And  bid  that  world  of  care  farewell." 
The  stranger  wept,  his  generous  heart 
In  others'  sorrows  shared  a  part. 
"  Thou  must  not  linger  here,"  said  he, 
"  Haste,  I  entreat  thee,  haste  with  me, 
Thou  lone  one,  to  that  dear  retreat, 
Where  thou  a  sister  band  shalt  meet ; 
Yes,  maiden,  they  are  blind  like  thee, 
And  they  will  love  thee  tenderly." 

How  changed  that  sightless  orphan  now, 

No  longer  clouded  is  her  brow  ; 

Her  buoyant  step  is  light  and  free, 

And  none  more  happy  is  than  she. 

For  education's  glorious  light 

Hath  chased  away  the  mental  night ; 


MISCELLANEOUS.  137 

Contentment  smiles  upon  her  face, 
And  with  delight  her  fingers  trace 
The  page  by  inspiration  given, 
To  guide  her  to  a  brighter  heaven. 
If  through  the  past  her  memory  stray, 
Then  music's  sweet  and  charming  lay 
Drives  each  dark  vision  from  her  breast, 
And  lulls  each  heaving  sigh  to  rest ; 
Her  grateful  lips  breathe  many  a  prayer, 
For  him  who  kindly  placed  her  there. 


A    BROTHER'S  WISH. 

WILT  thou  not  stay  for  my  brother  dear  ? 

'Tis  early  yet,  he  will  soon  be  here ; 

I  would  greet  him  too  with  a  smile  of  glee, 

But  he  lingers  long,  and  it  may  not  be. 

I  go  to  dream  of  that  form  so  bright, 

Stay  for  my  brother,  good  night,  good  night. 

Stay  for  my  brother,  thou  canst  not  tell 

The  thoughts  that  live  in  my  heart's  deep  cell ; 


138  MISCELLANEOUS. 

Thoughts  that  have  grown  with  my  riper  years, 
Nursed  midst  a  strife  of  hopes  and  fears ; 
Gilding  my  life  with  a  hallowed  light, 
Stay  for  my  brother,  good  night,  good  night. 

Stay  for  my  brother,  oh  !  wilt  thou  stay  ? 
The  moments  wane,  I  must  haste  away  ; 
Yet  would  I  welcome  with  smiles  of  glee, 
Him  who  is  dearer  than  life  to  me  ; 
I  go  ere  the  moon  hath  veiled  her  light, 
Stay  for  my  brother,  good  night,  good  night. 

Yes,  I  would  stay  for  thy  brother  dear, 
But  the  stars  grow  dim,  he  will  not  be  here  ; 
Friendship  is  weaving  her  magic  spell, 
Wooing  him  still  in  her  bowers  to  dwell ; 
Go  thou  and  dream  of  that  form  so  bright, 
Angels  watch  o'er  thee,  good  night,  good  night. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  139 


THE     BROKEN-HEARTED. 

TELL  me,  ye  glittering  hosts  of  light, 

That  nightly  gem  yon  arch  above, 
If  in  your  beauteous  realms  so  bright, 

There  dwells  the  sister  of  my  love  ? 
The  lute  unstrung  neglected  lies, 

No  more  its  chords  her  fingers  sweep ; 
Far  from  her  own  fair  Grecian  skies, 

She  in  her  lonely  grave  doth  sleep. 
Ye  birds,  that  round  this  wild  retreat, 

Warble  your  notes  from  bough  to  bough, 
To  me  your  music  once  was  sweet, 

But  oh  !  it  only  mocks  me  now. 
All  nature  smiles,  but  not  for  me, 

And  at  my  feet  her  flow'rets  bloom  ; 
Yet  while  their  opening  buds  I  see, 

It  o'er  me  casts  a  deeper  gloom. 
'Tis  wrong,  but  oh  !  I  cannot  bear 

While  she  in  death  is  sleeping  here, 


140  MISCELLANEOUS. 

That  aught  she  loved  a  smile  should  wear- 

Oh,  lost  Ian  the !  sister  dear  ! 
How  my  sad  spirit  longs  to  break 

Its  earthy  chain,  and  soar  away, 
Where  angel  choirs  harmonious  wake 

In  heavenly  strains  the  choral  lay. 
My  bosom's  idol  is  no  more, 

I  have  no  tie  to  bind  me  here, 
I  would  that  on  our  native  shore 

Thou  did'st  repose,  my  sister  dear ! 
O  Greece !  my  own  bright  land  of  song, 

O'er  thee  my  eager  fancy  plays ; 
Before  me  rise  a  youthful  throng, 

Companions  of  my  childhood's  days ; 
Land  where  the  muses  love  to  dwell, 

Land  of  the  cypress,  fare  thee  well ! 

Thus  Ida  mused,  the  shades  of  night 

Were  gathering  'round  a  lonely  wood, 
Where  in  a  simple  robe  of  white, 

Beside  a  new  made  grave  she  stood. 
Her  eye  was  of  the  mildest  blue, 

But  its  bright  glance  had  passed  away ; 
And  with  her  curls  of  auburn  hue, 

The  sporting  zephyrs  seemed  to  play. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  141 

She  could  not  weep,  else  for  the  grief 

That  weighed  so  heavy  on  her  heart, 
She  might  have  found  that  sweet  relief 

Which  falling  tears  alone  impart. 
One  hand  upon  her  brow  was  pressed 

As  on  her  knees  she  sank  in  prayer ; 
The  other  held  with  fond  caress, 

A  ringlet  of  her  sister's  hair. 
"  Father,  divine !"  she  meekly  said, 

"  Oh !  deign  to  hear  the  suppliant's  prayer ; 
On  me  thy  chastening  hand  is  laid, 

I  ask  for  strength  my  grief  to  bear." 
She  rose,  and  in  her  tearless  eye 

A  look  of  calm  submission  beamed ; 
She  raised  it  to  the  azure  sky, 

Where  night's  pale  lamps  all  lovely  gleamed. 
Then  parting  from  her  snowy  brow, 

The  tresses  that  were  waving  there, 
Upon  a  mound  herself  she  threw, 

Fanned  by  the  cool  refreshing  air. 
She  raised  her  deep  blue  eyes  once  more, 

Her  hands  were  clasped  upon  her  breast ; 
One  gentle  sigh,  and  all  was  o'er — 

The  broken-hearted  was  at  rest. 

Farewell,  Grecian  maiden !  thy  grief-stricken  bosom 
No  longer  convulsive  with  agony  heaves  ; 


142  MISCELLANEOUS. 

A  grave  by  the  side  of  thy  sister  we've  made  thee, 
And  pity  a  sigh  o'er  thy  memory  breathes. 

We'll  plant  near  thy  pillow  the  cypress  and  myrtle, 
The  willow  shall  weep  o'er  thy  desolate  grave ; 

The  rose  and  the  woodbine  shall  blossom  around  thee, 
Farewell,  Grecian  maiden !  fair  child  of  the  brave. 


THE    PAST. 

OH  !  give  me  back  the  past  again, 
With  all  its  hopes  and  fears ; 

Or  let  me  weep  in  solitude, 

O'er  childhood's  vanished  years. 

OhJ  give  me  back  my  mountain  home, 

The  willow  by  the  brook  ; 
The  robin  that  so  sweetly  sang 

Within  my  favorite  nook. 

And  give  me  what  of  all  I  prize, 
The  long  tried  friends  of  yore ; 

The  welcome  grasp,  the  kindly  glance, 
What  could  I  long  for  more  ? 


MISCELLANEOUS.  143 

Vain  wish  !  the  past  alone  returns 

To  memory's  silent  call ; 
Where  nourished  by  the  springs  of  thought, 

Our  brightest  treasures  dwell. 

I  strive  to  mourn  not  for  the  joys 

That  were  too  pure  to  last ; 
But  oh !  my  spirit  yearns  to  feel 

The  sunshine  of  the  past. 


THOUGHTS      IN      MIDNIGHT      HOUB/S. 

PALE  Cynthia !  lovely  goddess  of  the  night, 
That  o'er  reposing  nature  sheds  her  light ; — 
And  you,  ye  stars !  that  shine  from  pole  to  pole, 
And  round  this  dark  terrestrial  planet  roll ; 

Fain  would  I  to  your  distant  regions  soar, 
And  traverse  worlds  unseen,  unknown  before ; — 
My  restless  spirit  would  presume  to  scale 
Those  airy  heights,  and  lift  the  future's  veil. 


144  MISCELLANEOUS. 

Vain  wish  !  aside  that  veil  thou  may'st  not  draw, 
The  present  must  be — ought  to  be,  thy  law ; 
Study  what  God  reveals,  and  ask  no  more, 
And  where  thou  can'st  not  comprehend,  adore. 

He  to  those  countless  orbs  has  lustre  given, 

His  hand  directs  them  through  the  pathless  heaven  ; 

He,  at  a  glance,  the  universe  surveys  ; — 

Deep  and  incomprehensible  his  ways. 

But  hark !  another  hour  has  passed  away. 
O  time  !  thy  rapid  current  who  can  stay  ? 
And  yet  how  unimproved  thy  moments  fly  ; 
Mortals  forget  that  they  are  born  to  die. 

Death  comes  when  least  expected — who  can  tell 
For  whom  may  next  be  tolled  the  funeral  knell  ? 
The  greyhaired  sire,  the  blooming  and  the  brave, 
The  prince,  the  peasant,  share  one  common  grave. 

We  fondly  gaze  on  those  we  love  to-day, 

The  morrow  dawns — and  where,  oh,  where  are  they  ? 

Lifeless  and  cold  their  cherished  forms  are  laid 

In  solemn  silence  'neath  the  grave's  dark  shade. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  145 

Religion  !  sacred  treasure  !  but  for  thee 
The  world  a  solitary  wild  would  be, 
In  darkest  hour,  thou,  comforter,  art  nigh, 
To  wipe  the  gushing  tear  from  sorrow's  eye. 

Who  might  not  give  a  thousand  worlds  to  know 

The  calm  serenity  thou  dost  bestow  ? 

The  richest  gift  to  mortals  ever  given, 

On  earth  our  solace  and  foretaste  of  heaven. 

But  hush  !  what  sounds  are  stealing  on  my  ear  ? 
'Tis  but  the  sighing  of  the  wind  I  hear — 
And  there  is  music  in  these  plaintive  notes — 
How  soft,  yet  mournful  o'er  my  soul  it  floats. 

How  sweet  at  such  an  hour  the  parting  sigh, 
To  heave  upon  a  mother's  breast  and  die ; 
When  the  triumphant  soul  shall  wing  its  flight, 
To  hail  in  heaven  a  morn  of  holier  light. 

'Twere  sad  to  languish  in  a  distant  land, 
Our  pillow  smoothed  but  by  a  stranger's  hand ; 
To  pass  the  restless  hours  of  night  alone, 
Without  one  heart  congenial  with  our  own. 

No  mother  near  in  soothing  tones  to  speak — 
To  bathe  the  aching  head,  the  burning  cheek ; 
5f 


146  MISCELLANEOUS. 

Whence  comes  that  shadowy  form  with  noiseless  tread 
From  the  dark  mansions  of  the  lonely  dead  ? — 

Why  trembles  thus  my  agitated  frame  ? 
'Tis  but  the  phantom  of  a  fevered  brain ; — 
And  see,  it  smiles  benignant  on  me  now, 
A  heavenly  mildness  sits  upon  that  brow. 

Speak,  I  conjure  !  inhabitant  of  bliss  ! 
Say  what  has  called  thee  to  a  world  like  this ; 
Dost  bring  some  message  from  yon  starry  sphere  ? 
Then  deign  thine  accents  to  a  mortal  ear. 

Frail  child  of  earth,  awake  !  delay  no  more  ! 
Know  thou  the  morn  of  life  will  soon  be  o'er  ; 
Trust  not  the  world,  nor  seek  its  smiles  to  gain, 
False  are  its  friendships,  and  its  pleasures  vain. 

Farewell !  I'll  still  thy  faithful  guardian  be, 
While  floats  thy  bark  o'er  life's  tempestuous  sea ; 
And  when  its  heavings  and  its  storms  shall  cease, 
Be  thine  the  haven  of  eternal  peace. 

The  vision  speaks — then  fading  from  my  sight, 
To  heaven's  celestial  courts  it  wings  its  flight ; 
Night's  dusky  shadows  quickly  melt  away, 
And  smiling  nature  hails  the  opening  day. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  147 


TO     THE     SPIRIT     OF     MY     LOST     FRIEND 

COME  on  the  breeze  of  the  twilight  hour, 
When  I  muse  alone  in  my  leaf-clad  bower ; 
And  there  let  thy  gentle  voice  be  heard, 
Like  the  carol  sweet  of  some  favorite  bird ; 
Breathe  o'er  the  chords  of  my  slumbering  lute 
Tones  that,  alas !  have  so  long  been  mute. 

Come  on  the  balmy  breath  of  the  night, 
When  the  moon  is  shedding  her  silvery  light 
O'er  the  sylvan  grove  and  the  crystal  deep, 
And  nature  is  locked  in  her  quiet  sleep ; 
Leave  the  pure  mansions  of  bliss — thy  home, 
And  hie  thee  to  earth — oh  come,  come,  come. 

Come  when  the  cheerful  voice  of  the  spring, 
Gaily  through  woodland  and  grove  doth  ring ; 
Come  when  the  cuckoo  gives  welcome  note, 
That  sweet  and  clear  on  the  light  winds  float ; 
Come  when  joy  sits  enthroned  in  the  heart, 
Come  and  bear  thy  delightful  part. 


148  MISCELLANEOUS. 

Come  when  the  tear  of  keen  sorrow  flows, 
Thou  and  thou  onlj  can'st  soothe  my  woes ; 
Come  when  my  cheek  has  grown  pale  with  care, 
Or  the  hectic  flush  is  gath'ring  there ; 
And  hear  me  sigh  for  my  starry  home, 
Never,  oh !  never,  again  to  roam. 


TO     MATILDA  . 

OH,  sister !  take  this  withered  flower — 

My  parting  gift  to  thee ; 
And  sometimes  when  it  meets  thine  eye, 

Perhaps  you'll  think  of  me. 

Nay,  weave  me  not  that  dewy  wreath 

Of  rose  and  lily  fair, 
But,  sister,  of  the  cypress  twine 

A  garland  for  my  hair. 

I  may  not  linger  with  thee  long, 
My  sister,  kind  and  dear ; 


MISCELLANEOUS.  149 

Then  fold  me  closer  to  thy  heart, — 
Thy  soft  voice  let  me  hear. 

Weep  not  for  me  when  I  am  gone, 

To  the  lone  convent's  cell ; 
I'll  think  of  thee  when  tolls  at  eve, 

The  solemn  vesper  bell. 

My  spirit,  like  a  wounded  bird, 

Would  seek  a  peaceful  nest 
Within  those  dear  secluded  walls, 

And  hush  its  grief  to  rest. 

Then,  sister,  take  this  withered  flower — 

My  parting  gift  to  thee — 
And  sometimes  when  it  meets  thine  eye, 

Perhaps  you'll  think  of  me. 


WHO  slumbers  in  this  lonely  spot, 
By  all  neglected  and  forgot  ? 
No  chill  neglect,  no  cruel  woes, 
Can  now  disturb  his  calm  repose. 


150  MISCELLANEOUS. 


No  sculptured  marble  bears  his  name, 
To  tell  of  friendship,  love,  or  fame ; 
But  flowers  in  pity  o'er  him  wave, 
And  whisper — 'tis  the  stranger's  grave. 

The  stars  that  gem  the  arch  of  night, 
Here  shed  a  melancholy  light ; 
Yet  comes  no  form  with  solemn  tread, 
To  weep  in  silence  o'er  the  dead. 

His  requiem  the  fitful  moan 

Of  winds  that  breathe  a  hollow  tone ; 

And  through  the  dark  green  boughs  that  wave, 

They  whisper — 'tis  the  stranger's  grave. 

The  stranger's  grave !  it  matters  not 

If  by  the  world  he  is  forgot ; 

As  calm  and  peaceful  is  his  sleep 

Though  no  friends  mourn,  and  no  friends  weep. 

And  yet  where  love  and  memory  weep, 
Would  I  be  laid  in  death's  long  sleep ; 
Yes,  looking  up  to  heaven,  I  crave 
That  mine  be  not  a  stranger's  grave. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  151 


ON     A    CHILD     KNEELING. 

His  little  hands  were  meekly  clasped, 

And  to  that  cheek  so  fair, 
A  ringlet  carelessly  had  strayed, 

And  lightly  lingered  there. 

Beneath  those  silken  lids  that  drooped, 

Were  eyes  serenely  bright ; 
An  infant  kneels,  and  angels  gaze 

With  rapture  at  the  sight. 

Well  may  they  strike  their  golden  harps, 
And  swell  their  songs  of  praise ; 

An  infant  kneels  in  artless  strains 
Its  feeble  voice  to  raise. 

Oh,  what  a  lesson  !  if  a  child 

So  innocent  must  kneel, 
Should  not  our  sinful  time-seared  hearts 

A  deep  contrition  feel  ? 


152  MISCELLANEOUS 

How  often  from  a  little  child 
May  we  a  lesson  learn  ! 

Reminded  of  our  wanderings, 
And  urged  to  quick  return. 


TO      J.      P  .      TV. 

I  THANK  thee  for  that  little  flower, 
Culled  on  a  distant  shore  ; 

And  were  it  India's  brightest  gem, 
I  could  not  prize  it  more. 

It  whispers  of  a  happy  eve, 
That  I  would  not  forget, 

When  in  my  heaven  a  star  arose 
I  hope  will  never  set. 

So  great  the  magic  of  thy  words, 

So  musical,  so  free, 
That  wrapt  in  pleasing  re  very, 

I  listened  but  to  thee. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  153 

For  thou  didst  tell  of  other  climes 

Beyond  the  trackless  deep  ; 
And  thou  hast  trod  the  sacred  spot 

Where  Sparta's  warriors  sleep. 

And  looked  on  beauteous  Venice,  too, 

And  o'er  her  waters  clear 
Hast  heard  the  ever  merry  song 

Of  the  gay  gondolier. 

'Neath  fair  Italia's  laughing  skies, 
With  thee  in  thought  I've  strayed ; 

I've  looked  on  many  a  ruined  tower, 
And  many  a  classic  shade. 

And  thou  did'st  wake  the  lute  that  slept, 
Did'st  touch  its  trembling  strings — 

How  various  are  the  streams  that  flow 
From  mind's  perennial  springs  ! 

Perchance  ere  long  thy  gallant  ship 

The  ocean's  storms  will  brave, 
And  graceful  bend  its  snowy  sails, 

And  skim  the  briny  wave. 


154  MISCELLANEOUS. 

In  memory's  chaplet  will  I  weave 
The  flowers  so  dear  to  me  ; 

And  should  we  meet  in  after  years, 
'Twill  wear  a  smile  for  thee. 


ONE      SCENE      IN      A      STORM. 

THE  clouds  are  gathering  thick  and  fast, 
And  onward  comes  the  fearful  blast ; 
Where  madly  roll  the  billows  dark, 
I  see  a  frail  and  shattered  bark. 
I  marked  it  when  its  snowy  sail 
Seemed  sporting  with  the  laughing  gale ; 
Bird-like  it  glided  from  the  shore, 
And  one  I  oft  had  seen  before, 
"With  sparkling  eye  and  visage  mild, 
On  the  blue  waters  looked  and  smiled. 
*         *         %         *          *         *         * 

Hark !  louder  yet  the  tempest  raves, 
That  bark  is  struggling  with  the  waves, 
And  shrieks  a  frantic  mother  wild, 
Oh,  God  of  mercy !  save  my  child  ! 


MISCELLANEOUS.  155 

She  rushes  forth  distracted  now, 
One  hand  she  presses  to  her  brow ; 
Again  that  shriek  of  anguish  wild, 
Oh,  God  of  mercy  !  save  my  child ! 
The  storm  is  past,  the  billows  sleep, 
And  calm  and  peaceful  is  the  deep  ; 
That  bark  hath  sunk  beneath  the  wave, 
Its  tenants  found  a  watery  grave. 


THE     PRESUMPTUOUS     MOUSE. 

DEAR  friends,  receive  attentively 
A  strange  account  of  Mr.  C. 
With  your  permission  I'll  relate 
(And  you  may  smile  at  his  sad  fate), 
That  while  reposing  on  his  bed, 
And  airy  thoughts  flit  through  his  head, 
A  weary  mouse  house-hunting  crept, 
Close  to  the  pillow  where  he  slept ; 
But  there  not  feeling  quite  at  ease, 
And  wishing  much  himself  to  please, 


156  MISCELLANEOUS. 

He  looked  with  grave  and  thoughtful  air 
On  Mr.  C.'s  dishevelled  hair. 
Ah  !  here's  the  station  I  like  best, 
Said  he,  and  here  I'll  build  my  nest. 
The  scalp  conceals  a  poet's  brain, 
So  here  till  morning  I'll  remain  ; 
Perhaps  the  muse  will  me  inspire, 
And  if  she  tune  her  magic  lyre, 
I'll  to  the  world  proclaim  that  we, 
Though  mice,  like  men  may  poets  be. 
Our  hero  thus  descanted  long 
On  love,  and  poesy,  and  song  ; 
While  now  and  then  a  gentle  squeal 
'  His  vocal  powers  would  reveal. 
His  strain  of  eloquence  was  broke, 
For  Mr.  C.,  perplexed  awoke, 
And  starting  up — I  do  declare 
There's  something  scraping  in  my  hair ; 
A  light !  a  light !  what  shall  I  do  ? 
At  this  the  mouse  alarmed  withdrew  ; 
And  had  he  not,  I'm  certain,  death 
Had  stopped,  ere  long,  his  little  breath. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  157 


THE     SONGS     OF     OTHER     DAYS. 

KIND  minstrel,  wilt  thou  wake  once  more 

That  long  forgotten  strain  ? 
There's  something  in  its  wild  sad  notes 

I  fain  would  hear  again. 

Then  gently  touch  the  light  guitar, 

That  once  I  loved  to  praise ; 
And  soothe  me  with  its  music  now, 

In  songs  of  other  days. 

Long  years  have  tolled  their  weary  round, 

Since  last  I  heard  its  tone ; 
And  in  those  years  how  many  pangs 

This  aching  heart  has  known  ! 

I  feel  no  more  as  once  I  felt, 

The  warmth  of  friendship's  rays ; — 

But  friendship's  words  I  yet  may  hear, 
In  songs  of  other  days. 


158  MISCELLANEOUS. 

Rememb'rest  thou  the  mossy  nook 

Beneath  the  aged  pine  ? 
The  hawthorn  hedge — the  rose  that  grew 

Beside  the  clustering  vine  ? 

Around  those  old  familiar  scenes 

A  busy  fancy  plays ; — 
Then  soothe  me  with  thy  music  now, 

In  songs  of  other  days. 

Rememb'rest  thou  the  village  church — 
The  graveyard's  lone  retreat — 

The  violets  we  planted  there, 
So  beautiful — so  sweet  ? 

I  cannot  now  indulge  the  hope 

On  that  dear  spot  to  gaze ; 
I  would  more  gladly  then  recall, 

The  songs  of  other  days. 

The  bird  will  seek  its  native  clime,  " 
And  mates  from  whom  it  strayed  ; — 

And  list  with  rapture  to  their  songs, 
Amid  each  verdant  glade — 


MISCELLANEOUS.  159 


So  would  I  seek  my  early  home, 
And  walk  in  pleasure's  ways ; 

So  will  my  bosom  bound  to  hear 
The  songs  of  other  days. 


WAKE  thy  shrill  blast  on  the  mountain's  side, 

I  come,  I  come  to  thee, 
Where  the  torrent  leaps  o'er  the  rock's  steep  side, 

A  bandit's  bride  I'll  be. 

The  daring  eagle  that  soars  on  high 

Is  not  more  brave  than  thou ; 
Thy  spirit  is  seen  in  thy  flashing  eye, 

On  thy  broad,  determined  brow. 

Yon  dark  ravine  with  its  cavern  deep, 

Is  the  dwelling  of  the  free ; 
For  around  it  the  brave  their  vigils  keep — 

A  bandit's  bride  I'll  be. 


160  MISCELLANEOUS. 

Thy  faithful  sword  hath  avenged  thy  wrongs — 

A  victor's  crown  thou'st  won ; 
And  my  harp  shall  tell  in  its  nightly  songs, 

Of  deeds  so  nobly  done. 

I  shall  know  no  fear  whatever  betide, 

I  yield  my  heart  to  thee ; 
I  will  live  as  thou  liv'st  and  die  by  thy  side — 

A  bandit's  bride  I'll  be. 


THE     PILGRIM     AND     THE     ANGEL. 

UPON  his  staff  an  aged  pilgrim  leant, 

And  towards  a  rapid  stream  his  steps  he  bent ; 

Then  sat  him  down  upon  its  sterile  side, 

And  gazed  and  gazed  upon  its  passing  tide. 

I  saw  a  tear-drop  gather  in  his  eye, 

His  age,  his  tears,  called  forth  my  sympathy ; 

"  They  are  not  here,"  he  murmured,  "  no,  not  here, 

They  are  in  heaven — the  friends  I  loved  so  dear — 

On  death's  cold  stream  I  saw  them  pass  away, 

And  now,  methinks,  they  chide  my  long  delay. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  161 

A  few  more  days,  and  I  shall  cease  to  roam, 

Oh,  happy  thought !  I  too  am  going  home." 

The  pilgrim  ceased — methought  a  boat  drew  near — 

The  sight  his  fainting  spirit  seemed  to  cheer ; 

I  saw  an  angel  wave  him  to  her  side — 

He  gazed  a  moment  on  the  swelling  tide — 

"  Fear  not,"  she  whispered,  "  though  the  billows  foam, 

Thy  prayer  is  heard  and  God  hath  called  thee  home." 

The  waves  rolled  on,  I  felt  their  icy  breath — 

The  stream  he  launched  on  was  the  stream  of  death. 


TO    ALICE. 

OH,  Alice !  can  we  e'er  forget 

Our  school  days  glad  and  bright  ?- 

Do  they  not  leave  upon  our  hearts, 
A  pure  and  pleasant  light  ? 

Look  back  upon  the  past,  and  say, 
Can  aught  its  bliss  restore  ; 

Can  time  with  all  its  power  dispel 
The  charm  that  once  it  bore  ? 


162  MISCELLANEOUS. 

How  little  did  we  know  of  care — 
For  we  were  young  and  gay ; 

Alas  !  how  many  precious  hours 
Were  idly  thrown  away. 

Of  those  who  were  our  schoolmates  then, 

But  few  are  with  us  now ; 
For  death  has  laid  its  chilling  hand 

On  many  a  youthful  brow. 

Some  have  their  homes  in  distant  climes, 

And  thus  we  dwell  apart; 
But  absence  cannot  break  the  chain 

That  binds  us  heart  to  heart. 

• 
Oh,  Alice !  deeply  hast  thou  drunk 

The  bitter  cup  of  woe ; — 
The  pangs  thy  aching  bosom  fill, 
Alas  !  too  well  I  know. 

Yet  in  thine  hour  of  dark  despair, 
Look  to  thy  friend  abo\7e — 

Thy  father,  merciful  and  kind, 
Whose  chastening  is  love. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  163 


TO     J.      K.      W. 

I  HAVE  treasured  the  scene  thou  hast  colored  so  bright, 
And  I  muse  on  its  features  with  earnest  delight ; 
I  am  with  thee  in  thought,  on  the  oft  disturbed  deep, 
And  the  soft  winds  are  lulling  the  billows  to  sleep. 

The  sun  is  declining,  it  lingers  awhile, 

As  if  o'er  Atlantic's  proud  bosom  to  smile ; 

I  see  a  proud  vessel  borne  swiftly  along, 

And  I  hear  the  gay  notes  of  the  mariner's  song. 

The  sun  is  declining — how  lovely  and  bright 
The  rich  golden  hues  as  they  burst  on  the  sight ; 
And  the  delicate  clouds  lightly  floating  in  air, 
Are  weaving  wild  forms  fantastic  and  fair. 

'Tis  eve — they  are  gone — they  are  lost  in  its  shade — 
And  here  must  the  wings  of  my  fancy  be  stayed  ; 
But  thou  can'st  portray  the  emotions  of  bliss, 
That  hang  like  a  spell  in  a  moment  like  this. 


164  MISCELLANEOUS. 

Thou  hast  looked  on  the  splendor  of  sunset  at  sea, 

As  thy  vessel  has  glided  majestic  and  free  ; 

Thou  hast  watched  the  pale  stars  as  they  smiled  from 

above, 
While  the  voice  of  the  night-wind  has  whispered  of  love. 

Ah !  would  that  these  eyes  could  a  moment  behold 
The  beauties  my  fancy  alone  must  unfold ! 
I  will  treasure  the  scene  thou  hast  colored  so  bright, 
And  will  muse  on  its  features  with  earnest  delight. 


THE     FLOATING     BETHEL. 

THE  Sabbath  bell  with  solemn  peal, 
Rose  on  the  calm  still  air ; 

I  looked  upon  the  river's  breast, 
A  Bethel  floated  there. 

And  streaming  from  its  humble  spire 
A  flag  the  zephyrs  curled ; 

A  vessel  by  its  side  soon  moored, 
Her  canvas  quickly  furled ; — 


MISCELLANEOUS.  165 

And  now  upon  her  deck  there  stands 

A  weather-beaten  crew, 
With  feelings  they  cannot  repress, 

As  now  their  homes  they  view. 

God  hath  preserved  us  !  they  exclaim, 

While  on  the  trackless  deep — 
(At  his  command  the  billows  roll, 

At  his  command  they  sleep — ) 

Again  to  hear  that  Sabbath  bell 

Call  to  the  house  of  prayer  ; 
Then  turned  they  to  that  little  church 

Beared  for  the  mariner. 

Slowly  a  rev'rend  pastor  rose, 

The  gospel  to  declare ; 
His  voice  was  tremulous  and  weak, 

And  snowy  was  his  hair. 

He  seemed  upon  the  brink  of  death, 

Yet  tranquil  and  serene ; 
He  dreaded  not  to  launch  away 

On  its  dark  rolling  stream. 


166  MISCELLANEOUS. 

Then  swelled  a  choral  hymn  of  praise — 
It  ceased,  and  all  was  still ; 

Each  head  was  bowed — a  solemn  awe 
Each  bosom  seemed  to  fill. 

Say  not  the  sailor's  ear  is  deaf 

To  fond  affection's  strains ; 
Or  that  his  heart  is  cold,  and  locked 

In  adamantine  chains. 

Oft  as  his  nightly  watch  he  keeps 

Upon  the  deck  alone, 
His  thoughts  on  memory's  wings  are  borne 

Back  to  his  boyhood's  home. 

His  mother's  oft  repeated  prayer 

Is  whispered  in  his  ear  ; 
The  lullaby  she  used  to  sing, 

Again  he  seems  to  hear. 

Then  say  not  that  his  ear  is  deaf 

To  fond  affection's  strains  ; 
Or  that  his  heart  is  cold,  and  locked 

In  adamantine  chains. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  167 

'Twas  eve — a  calm,  still  Sabbath  eve — 

Most  sacred  hour  of  rest ! 
And  gently  swept  the  crystal  wave 

Upon  the  Hudson's  breast. 

Again  I  to  that  Bethel  turn ; 

Bright  lamps  are  shining  there, 
Beacons  to  light  the  starless  way 

Of  the  poor  mariner. 

And  as  the  Sabbath  eve  returns, 

Those  radiant  lamps  will  shine ; — 
Surely  I  think  their  brilliant  rays 

Emblems  of  light  divine. 


LINES  ON  THE  FUNERAL  PROCESSION  OF 
GENERAL  TAYLOR. 

CLAD  in  the  dark  habiliments  of  woe, 
The  crowd  move  on  with  measured  step  and  slow ; 
Why  doth  yon  car  the  name  of  Taylor  bear  ? — 
Why  sits  with  outspread  wings  the  eagle  there  ? 


168  MISCELLANEOUS. 

Hark !  hark  !  the  muffled  drum  and  solemn  bell. 

In  mournful  tones  reply,  farewell,  farewell ! 

Farewell !  our  hero,  president,  and  friend  ! 

O'er  his  pale  form  it  was  not  ours  to  bend — 

Nor  could  we  follow  to  his  narrow  bed, 

Nor  weep  in  sorrow  o'er  the  illustrious  dead. 

Yet  would  we  now  our  humble  tribute  bring, 

It  is  affection's  last,  sad  offering. 

Our  hearts  are  full — among  that  throng  we  see 

Some  who  in  battle  nobly  fought  with  thee. 

At  thy  command  the  glittering  sword  they  drew, 

By  thee  inspired,  no  fear  their  bosoms  knew. 

Their  downcast  eyes  our  sympathies  awake — 

Yes,  we  revere  them  for  our  hero's  sake. 

A  nation  mourns — and  shrouded  thus  in  woe, 

In  broken  accents  cries — why  is  it  so  ? 

Eternal  wisdom  !  wondrous  thy  designs ! 

Far,  far  beyond  the  reach  of  finite  minds. 

We  dare  not  murmur  at  thy  soyereign  will — 

Oh !  bid  each  agitated  heart  be  still. 

Oh !  soothe  the  anguish  of  each  troubled  breast, 

And  hush  the  tumult  of  our  grief  to  rest ! 


MISCELLANEOUS.  169 


FAREWELL      LINES     TO      A      FRIEND      LATELY 
M ARR IE  D. 

How  beautiful  the  golden  ray 

That  lingered  on  the  breast  of  even, 

As  if  it  sought  to  bear  away 

One  sacred  hour  from  earth  to  Heaven. 

That  hour  had  sealed  a  treasure  thine — 

A  being  gentle  as  a  dove 
Far  from  her  childhood's  native  clime, 

Had  pledged  to  thee  her  life — her  love. 

The  captive  bird  will  gaily  sing, 

If  nourished  by  a  gentle  hand  ; 
But  oh  !  how  soon  will  droop  its  wing, 

If  wounded  in  a  stranger  land. 

Confiding  now  she  clings  to  thee, 
Hangs  on  thine  every  look  and  tone ; 

Thou  must  her  only  guardian  be — 
Remember  she  is  thine  alone. 


170  MISCELLANEOUS. 

Perchance  some  thought  of  other  years 
May  wake  a  sad  unbidden  sigh  ; 

Thou  wilt  not  chide  it  or  the  tears 
That  tremble  in  her  glistening  eye. 

A  mother's  voice,  a  father's  smile, 

Will  come  at  twilight's  pensive  hour  ; 

Though  other  scenes  her  heart  beguile, 
'Twill  ne'er  forget  its  native  bower. 

In  thought  I  see  the  sloping  hill, 

Where  stands  thy  lovely  western  cot ; — 

I  seem  to  hear  the  rippling  rill, 

That  bids  you  welcome  to  the  spot. 

And  ye  will  go  ! — another  week 
Will  not  its  rapid  circuit  tell, 

Ere  I  must  teach  these  lips  to  speak 
That  painful,  dreaded  word — farewell ! 

Severed  from  both,  ye  little  know 
How  desolate  my  heart  will  be  ; 

Tears,  burning  tears,  will  freely  flow — 
The  only  solace  left  for  me. 

Must  I  alone  this  burden  bear  ? 

Oh,  selfish  heart,  thy  feelings  quell ! 


MISCELLANEOUS.  171 

Do  I  alone  their  friendship  share  ? — 
Will  other  lips  not  say  farewell  ? 

Yes,  other  eyes  will  weep  like  mine, 
And  other  hearts  with  anguish  swell ; 

I  know  'tis  weakness  to  repine — 

God  bless  you  both — Farewell — Farewell ! 


TO   KATE. 

I  BRING  thee  a  chaplet  of  roses  bright, 

Whose  leaves  are  impearled  with  the  dews  of  night, 

I  bring  thee  the  meek-eyed  violet  blue, 

The  jessamine  sweet,  and  the  woodbine  too. 

I  have  gathered  the  virgin  lily  pale, 
Whose  quiet  home  is  the  peaceful  vale ; 
And  the  modest  daisy  fresh  and  gay, 
An  offering  meet  for  this  happy  day. 

Touched  by  the  breath  of  the  summer  air, 
Lovely  and  pure  is  the  smile  they  wear ; 


172  MISCELLANEOUS. 

Now  they  are  shedding  that  smile  for  thee- 
Friendship  and  hope  shall  its  emblems  be. 


TO     C  YNTHI A. 

WHEN  wilt  thou  think  of  me  ? — 
When  the  vesper  beli  is  pealing, 
And  its  distant  sounds  are  stealing 
Softly  on  the  list'ning  ear, 
Breathing  music  sweet  and  clear  ; 
When  in  prayer  thou  bend'st  the  knee, 
Wilt  thou  then  remember  me  ? 

When  wilt  thou  think  of  me  ? — 

When  the  twilight  fades  away, 

And  the  bird  hath  ceased  its  lay, 

And  the  quiet  evening  shade 

Lingers  in  the  silent  glade ; 

When  thy  thoughts  are  wandering  free, 

Wilt  thou  then  remember  me  ? 


MISCELLANEOUS.  1*73 

When  wilt  thou  think  of  me  ? — 
When  thy  gentle  heart  is  crushed, 
And  its  sweetest  tones  are  hushed  ; 
When  upon  some  faithful  breast, 
Thou  wouldst  lull  thy  grief  to  rest — 
Then  in  whispers  soft,  to  thee 
I  would  say — remember  me. 


COME    HOME . 

COME  to  thy  own,  thy  native  land  again, 

For  thy  return  shall  friendship  plead  in  vain  ? 

Oh  !  speed  thee  quickly  o'er  the  ocean's  foam, 

And  glad  the  hearts  that  long  have  sighed — come  home  ! 

At  eve  we  gather  round  the  social  hearth, 
Yet  hear,  alas  !  no  more  thy  song  of  mirth  ; 
A  gloomy  sadness  sits  on  every  brow, 
Thy  place  is  vacant — where,  oh,  where  art  thou  ? 


174  MISCELLANEOUS. 

Thy  place  is  vacant,  and  our  home  is  drear ; 

Come  to  the  spot  once  to  thy  bosom  dear ; 

Oh !  speed  thee  quickly  o'er  the  ocean's  foam, 

And  glad  the  hearts  that  long  have  sighed — come  home ! 


TO     A     F  RIE  N  D  . 

LONG  years  have  passed  since  first  we  met, 
And  changes  sad  we  both  have  seen ; 
How  many  a  radiant  star  hath  set, 
That  cheered  us  with  its  ray  serene  ! 

I  knew  thee  when  thy  bosom  thrilled 
Like  a  rich  harp-string's  gentle  tone  ; 
Thine  eye  with  tenderest  joy  was  filled, 
As  one  soft  glance  would  meet  its  own. 

Yes,  like  a  fragile  lily  fair, 
She  seemed  around  thy  form  to  twine  ; 
Those  lips  that  breathed  her  heart-felt  prayer 
Awoke  an  answering  chord  in  thine. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  1*75 

Days,  weeks,  and  months  flew  swiftly  by — 
A  pallid  hue  was  on  her  cheek, 
And  from  her  breast  the  deep-drawn  sigh 
Told  what  to  thee  she  could  not  speak. 

In  vain  the  balmy  gales  of  spring 
Return  to  fan  her  fevered  brow ; 
In  vain  her  own  sweet  warblers  sing — 
No  mortal  hand  can  save  her  now. 

And  as  upon  its  mother's  breast, 
The  babe  is  gently  hushed  to  sleep ; 
Without  a  groan  she  sank  to  rest, 
And  thou,  alas  !  art  left  to  weep. 

Yet  in  the  solemn  hour  of  night 
When  round  thee  floats  the  gentle  air ; — 
She  calls  thee  from  yon  worlds  of  light, 
And  whispers — thou  shalt  soon  be  there. 

Thou  hast  one  thought  thy  heart  to  cheer, 
Though  one  by  one  earth's  ties  be  riven  ; 
Each  sacred  link  death  severs  here, 
Still  closer  drawn  shall  be  in  heaven. 


1*76  MISCELLANEOUS, 

Then  brood  not  o'er  the  shadowy  past, 
For  oh  !  it  dark  and  drear  must  be  ; 
Nor  would  I  to  oblivion  cast 
Those  memories  now  so  sweet  to  thee. 

Yet  I  would  humbly  ask  for  thee, 
That  even  may  life's  current  flow  ; 
That  thine  again  may  never  be 
To  taste  such  bitterness  of  woe. 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  AN  ONLY  CHILD. 

I  KNOW  thy  heart  is  lonely  now, 
For  broken  is  its  dearest  tie  ; 

A  sadness  lingers  on  thy  brow, — 
A  tear  is  gushing  from  thine  eye. 

Thou  in  the  quiet  grave  hast  laid 
The  idol  of  thy  fondest  care  ; 

And  when  the  hues  of  evening  fade, 
How  often  dost  thou  wander  there  ! 


MISCELLANEOUS.  177 

Yet  wherefore  should'st  thou  thus  repine  ? 

What  though  the  stream  of  life  be  dark — 
Say,  canst  thou  not  thy  all  resign 

To  Him  who  guides  thy  feeble  bark  ? 

Then  upward  turn  thy  tearful  eyes, 
Those  weary  hours  will  soon  be  o'er; 

Thy  soul  to  brighter  realms  shall  fly, 
From  him  thou  lov'st  to  part  no  more. 


TO    j .    w .    G  .    c . 

ON   THE   DEATH   OF   HIS   INFANT   SON. 

HE  sleeps  alone — thy  first-born  son, — 

Too  beautiful  for  earth  ; 
He  faded  with  the  summer  flowers 

That  smiled  upon  his  birth. 

'Twas  soon  to  break  the  golden  chain— 
'Twas  soon  to  give  him  up, 

To  feel  thy  dearest  wishes  crushed, 
And  drain  the  bitter  cup. 
8* 


178  MISCELLANEOUS. 

Why  was  that  bud  so  early  nipped, 
When  life  had  scarce  begun  ? 

Nay  !  ask  thou  not,  but  meekly  say, 
Father,  thy  will  be  done  ! 

And  yet  how  hard  to  school  the  heart 
When  torn  by  care  and  pain ; 

To  teach  it  calmly  to  endure 
And  hope  for  rest  again. 

Oh !  never  wilt  thou  hear  again 
That  infant's  lisping  tone — 

And  though  within  thine  arms  he  slept, 
He  now  must  sleep  alone. 

Alone !  no,  no  ! — the  body  sleeps — 

The  spirit  cannot  die  ; 
And  his  has  joined  the  cherub  throng 

Beyond  the  star-lit  sky. 

When  the  sweet  voice  of  spring  is  heard, 
And  the  blue  violets  bloom  ; 

Go  with  the  partner  of  thy  care 
And  strew  them  on  his  tomb. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  1 79 

The  fount  of  tears  may  be  unsealed, 

While  ye  are  gazing  there ; 
But  upward  turn  your  thoughts  to  heaven, 

And  find  sweet  peace  in  prayer. 


AN      ADDRESS, 

COMPOSED  AND  RECITED  WHILE  ON  A  TOUR  WITH  A  PARTY  FROM 
THE  INSTITUTION  THROUGH  THE  INTERIOR  OF  THE  STATE  OF 
NEW  YORK,  IN  SEPTEMBER,  1843. 

THE  deep  blue  sky,  serenely  bright, 
On  which  your  eyes  with  rapture  gaze, 

Where  stars  unveil  their  mellow  light, 
And  God  his  wondrous  power  displays  ; 

The  gushing  fount,  whose  glassy  breast 

Reflects  the  parting  hues  of  day, 
Nature,  in  robes  of  verdure  dressed, 

The  opening  buds,  the  flow'rets  gay ; 

The  lofty  hills,  the  greenwood  bowers, — 
Though  fair  these  rural  scenes  appear,. 


180  MISCELLANEOUS. 

On  them  to  gaze  must  ne'er  be  ours  ; 
These  orbs,  alas  !  they  cannot  cheer. 

But,  oh  !  instruction's  nobler  light 
Sheds  on  our  mental  eye  its  ray ; 

We  hail  its  beams  with  new  delight, 
And  bid  each  gloomy  thought  away. 

To  us,  our  God  kind  friends  has  given, 
Whose  names  we  ever  shall  revere  ; 

Recorded  in  the  book  of  heaven, 
Shall  their  munificence  appear. 

Twas  they  who  reared  the  happy  home, 
Beneath  whose  peaceful  roof  we  dwell ; 

No  more  unheeded  now  we  roam, — 
Our  lips  the  notes  of  gladness  swell. 

But  while  our  sunny  moments  fly, 

Unsullied  by  a  shade  of  care, 
For  those  like  us  bereft  we  sio-h, 

O      / 

And  wish  they,  too,  our  joys  might  share. 

Is  there  no  tender  parent  here, 
Who  oft  in  sorrow  weeps  alone, 

For  the  sweet  child  he  holds  so  dear, 
O'er  whom  a  rayless  night  is  thrown  ? 


MISCELLANEOUS.  181 

Then  place  amid  our  youthful  band, 
That  loved  one  cherished  long  by  thee  ; 

There  will  her  intellect  expand, 

And  her  young  heart  beat  light  and  free. 

There  will  her  fingers  learn  to  trace 

The  page  by  inspiration  given ; 
The  page  of  sacred  truth  and  grace — 

The  star  that  guides  her  soul  to  heaven. 


ADDRE  8  8, 

RECITED  AT  SEVERAL  EXHIBITIONS  WHEN  ON  A  TOUR  THROUGH  THE 
WESTERN  PART  OF  THE  STATE  OF  NEW  YORK,  IN  AUGUST,  1842, 
INVITING  THE  PUBLIC  TO  SEND  THE  BLIND  TO  THE  INSTITUTION. 

CONTENTED,  happy,  though  a  sightless  band, 
Dear  friends,  this  evening  we  before  you  stand ! 
We  for  a  moment  your  attention  claim, 
And  trust  that  boon  will  not  be  asked  in  vain. 

The  varied  scenes  the  rural  landscape  yields, 
The  smiling  meadows  and  the  flowery  fields, 


182  MISCELLANEOUS. 

The  boundless  ocean  and  the  vaulted  skies, 
Must  never,  never  glad  these  sightless  eyes. 

But  there's  a  lamp  within,  whose  sacred  light 
Burns  with  a  lustre  ever  pure  and  bright — 
'Tis  education — we  have  shown  to  you 
What,  by  its  rays  illumed,  the  blind  can  do. 

Without  it,  life  a  dreary  waste  would  be, 

With  naught  to  break  its  long  monotony  ; 

No  sunny  beams  to  light  our  cheerless  way — 

Our  vacant  thoughts,  ah  !  whither  would  they  stray  ? 

But  thanks  to  God,  his  sovereign  care  we  own, 
He  hath  not  left  us  friendless  and  alone, — 
His  pitying  eye  beheld  the  helpless  blind, 
And  raised  up  friends  affectionate  and  kind. 

Fain  would  I  bear  you  to  our  happy  home — 
Come  then  with  me,  on  fancy's  pinions  roam, 
WTiere  peace  and  love,  twin  sisters,  fondly  smile, 
And  music's  strains  our  cheerless  hours  beguile. 

When  fair  Aurora  from  the  orient  sky 
Bids  night's  celestial  orb  before  her  fly, 
We  hail  the  opening  day  with  vigor  new, 
And  with  delight  our  various  tasks  pursue. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  183 

But  oh  !  while  thus  our  moments  sweetly  glide, 
We  think  of  those  like  us  of  sight  denied, 
Whose  minds  enshrouded  in  a  mental  night, 
Sigh  to  behold  instruction's  glorious  light. 

Perchance  some  tender  parent  now  is  here, 
Whose  only  child,  perhaps  a  daughter  dear, 
Of  sight  bereaved,  doth  tears  of  pity  claim — 
Then  why  at  home  that  darling  one  detain  ? 

Place,  I  entreat  you,  place  your  offspring  there, 
Where  she  the  blessings  we  enjoy  may  share  ; 
Where,  pruned  by  education's  culturing  hand, 
Her  intellect,  long  dormant,  may  expand. 

And  she  will  bless  you  with  affection's  tears, 
When  she  to  you  returns  in  after  years — 
Will  with  her  fingers  trace  the  sacred  page, 
When  o'er  you  steals  apace  declining  age. 


184  MISCELLANEOUS. 


AN     ADDRESS, 
DELIVERED   BY   FRANCES   JANE   CROSBY,    A   PUPIL,   ETC., 

Before  the  Governor,  Council,  and  Assembly  of  the  State  of 
New  Jersey,  on  the  occasion  of  an  Exhibition  given  before 
that  Body,  at  Trenton,  by  twenty  Pupils  from  the  Institution. 
January  29,  1844. 

Now  'mid  the  evening  sky  serene, 
Majestic  rolls  night's  silv'ry  queen  ; 
Her  starry  train  revolving  round, 
Smiles  o'er  calm,  nature's  sleep  profound. 

Alas  !  though  mild  their  lustre  be, 
Their  beauties  we  may  never  see  ; 
But  there's  a  ray  more  pure,  more  bright, 
That  in  our  bosoms  sheds  its  light. 

That  ray  our  darkened  path  beguiles, 

And  wreathes  the  clouded  brow  with  smiles  ; 

'Tis  education,  dearer  far 

Than  brilliant  moon  or  beaming  star. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  185 

Thanks  to  our  Father,  God  above, 
For  the  rich  tokens  of  his  love ; 
The  blind  girl's  home  he  deigns  to  bless, 
And  turns  her  grief  to  happiness. 

How  oft,  at  evening's  silent  hour, 
When  zephyrs  fanned  each  fragrant  flower, 
And  peaceful  nature  calmly  slept 
In  pensive  sadness,  we  have  wept. 

Now  sweetly  glide  the  hours  away, 
Cheered  by  soft  music's  thrilling  lay  ; 
And  pure  affection's  accents  dear, 
Fall  gently  on  our  listening  ear. 

We — honored  legislative  band  ! 
With  glowing  hearts  before  you  stand ; — 
We  plead  for  those  bereft  of  sight, 
Who  sigh  for  education's  light. 

We  tender  you  our  thanks  sincere, 
For  those  intrusted  to  our  care ; 
But  many,  many  yet  remain, 
And  shall  we  plead  for  them  in  vain  ? 


186  MISCELLANEOUS. 


"SHALL   i   MEET   THEE    AGAIN?" 

DEDICATED    TO    A    FELLOW    PUPIL    IN    THE    INSTITUTION. 

SHALL  I  meet  thee  again  where  so  oft  we  have  met, 
When  our  bosoms  from  sorrow  were  free  ? 

Oh !  those  moments  of  pleasure  will  steal  o'er  me  yet, 
When  thou  art  far  distant  from  me ! 

Shall  I  meet  thee  again,  'neath  the  green  willow's  shade 

That  waves  o'er  Oneida's  calm  lake  ? 
When  the  mild  rays  of  evening  in  loveliness  fade, 

Shall  my  lute  its  soft  music  awake  ? 

Oh !  say  shall  I  meet  thee  unaltered  again — 

Thy  friendship  as  fervent  as  now  ? 
Or  will  absence  efface  from  thy  mem'ry  my  name, 

And  cold  be  the  smile  on  thy  brow  ? 


MISCELLANEOUS.  187 


THE     BLIND     GIRL'S     SONG. 

THEY  tell  me  of  a  sunny  sky, 

Tinged  with  ethereal  light ; 
But,  ah  !  for  me,  no  sunbeams  shine, 

My  day  is  veiled  in  night. 

Yet,  there's  a  beam,  a  nobler  beam, 
Of  knowledge,  bright  and  fair  ; 

That  beam  may  light  my  darkened  path, 
And  soften  every  care. 

The  moon  that  o'er  the  sleeping  earth 

Shines  forth  in  majesty, 
The  sparkling  deep  that  proudly  rolls, 

Hath  no  delights  for  me. 

Yet  I  can  hear  a  brother's  voice, 

In  tenderest  accents  speak ; 
And  feel  my  gentle  sister's  tear, 

Steal  softly  down  my  cheek. 


188  MISCELLANEOUS. 


PSALM     IV.     8. 

"  I  will  both  lay  me  down  in  peace,  and  sleep  ;  for  thou,  Lord, 
only  makest  me  to  dwell  in  safety." 

DRAWN  is  the  curtain  of  the  night, 

Oh  !  't  is  the  sacred  hour  of  rest ; 
Sweet  hour,  I  hail  thee  with  delight, 

Thrice  welcome  to  my  weary  breast. 

0  God !  to  thee,  my  fervent  prayer 

I  offer,  kneeling  at  thy  feet ; 
Though  humbly  breathed,  oh !  deign  to  hear — 

Smile  on  me  from  the  mercy  seat. 

While  angel  guards  their  watches  keep, 
Whose  harps  thy  praise  unceasing  swell, 

"  I  lay  me  down  in  peace,  and  sleep," 
For  thou  in  safety  mak'st  me  dwell. 

Drawn  is  the  curtain  of  the  night — 
Thou  bid'st  creation  silent  be — 


MISCELLANEOUS.  189 

And  now,  with  holy,  calm  delight, 
Father,  I  would  commune  with  thee. 

Shepherd  of  Israel,  deign  to  keep, 

And  guard  my  soul  from  every  ill : 
Thus  will  I  lay  me  down,  and  sleep, 

For  thou  in  safety  mak'st  me  dwell. 


TO     A     FRIEND     AND      FELLOW     PUPIL, 

WHO   PROPOSED   TO   THROW    AWAY   THE   FADED   FLOWER   OF 
A   FAVORITE    PLANT. 

CAST  not  this  simple  flower  away  ! 
I  mark  with  sorrow  its  decay  ; 
But  though  its  transient  day  be  o'er, 
Eliza,  thou  should'st  love  it  more. 

Though  other  flowers  round  it  smile, 
They'll  blossom  but  a  little  while  ; 
Then,  like  my  hyacinth,  decay  : 
Cast  not  that  simple  flower  away. 

The  time  may  come,  perchance  ere  long, 
When  she  whose  light  and  joyous  song 


190  MISCELLANEOUS. 

Thou  oft  hast  heard,  and  in  whose  heart's 
Affections  thou  dost  share  a  part ; 

May,  like  that  withered  flower,  fade, 
And  in  the  silent  grave  be  laid. 
With  her,  will  all  thy  love  decay  ? — 
Cast  not  that  simple  flower  away ! 

Methinks  I  see  the  gathering  tear 
Fall  from  thine  eyes,  my  sister  dear ; 
Forgive,  if  I  have  caused  thee  pain — 
I  will  not  wound  thy  heart  again. 

Yet,  by  the  love  thou  bear'st  to  me, 
And  my  affection  deep  for  thee, 
Friend  of  my  bosom,  say,  oh  !  say, 
Thou  wilt  not  cast  that  flower  away ! 


EASTER     S  UN  DAY. 

HAIL,  sacred  morn  !  when  from  the  tomb 

The  Son  of  God  arose, 
"  Captivity  he  captive  led," 

And  triumphed  o'er  his  foes. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  191 

Rejoice !  oh,  holy  church,  rejoice  ! 

Awake  thy  noblest  strain, 
Put  off  thy  weeds  of  mourning  now, — 

The  Saviour  lives  again. 

Oh  !  let  thy  loud  hosannahs  reach 

The  portals  of  the  sky, 
While  angels  tune  their  gentle  harps 

And  heavenly  choirs  reply. 

"  Glory  to  God  ;  he  ever  lives 

To  plead  our  cause  above, 
He, — he  is  worthy  to  receive 

All  honor,  power,  and  love. 

"  Hail,  mighty  king !  we  at  thy  feet 

Our  grateful  homage  pay ; 
Accept  the  humble  sacrifice, 

And  wash  our  sins  away. 

"  Then  at  the  resurrection  morn, 
When  the  last  trump  shall  sound, 

May  we  awake  to  life  anew, 
And  with  thy  saints  be  found." 


192  MISCELLANEOUS. 


IMPROMPTU, 

IN   ANSWER   TO   THE   QUESTION,   "WILL   YOU   SEND    FOR   ME    WHEN 
YOU   ARE   ILL?" 

THE  promise  I  have  made  thee, 

Doubt  not  I  will  fulfil, 
For  I  would  have  thee  near  me, 

My  friend,  when  I  am  ill ; 
Yes,  I  would  lay  my  aching  head 

Upon  thy  faithful  breast, 
And  while  I  felt  its  gentle  throb, 

Would  sweetly  sink  to  rest. 

Come,  throw  thy  arms  about  me, 

As  thou  hast  oft  before  ; 
The  song  I  loved  so  dearly, 

Oh !  sing  to  me  once  more. 
Yes,  twine  thine  arms  around  me, 

And  press  thy  cheek  to  mine  ; 
The  love  that  thus  has  warmed  me, 

Shall  evermore  be  thine. 


>a  i  s  c  E  L  L  A  N  E  o  u  -a ,  193 

It  was  but  jester-night  I  dreamed, 

In  Eden's  bower  we  strayed, 
And  sat,  and  talked  of  happiness, 

Beneath  the  olive  shade. 
There  every  tree,  and  plant,  and  flower, 

In  ali  their  beauty  bloomed, 
And  with  their  balmy  fragrance, 

The  evening  air  perfumed. 

Oh  I  there  is  a  fairer  Eden, 

In  yonder  world  above  ; 
There  may  we  meet,  no  more  to  part, 

Friend  of  my  fondest  love  ! 
There  may  thy  voice  in  higher  strains, 

Than  it  on  earth  can  raise, 
Be  tuned  with  all  the  heavenly  choir, 

To  its  Redeemer's  praise. 


194  MISCELLANEOUS 


THE     WISH. 

I  ASK  ;  but  not  the  glittering  pomp 

Of  wealth  and  pageantry  ; 
Nor  splendid  dome ;  a  rural  cot 

My  domicile  shall  be. 

"Pis  not  to  mingle  with  the  gay, 

The  opulent,  and  proud  ; 
'Tis  not  to  court  the  flattering  smile 

Of  an  admiring  crowd. 

I  ask  a  heart — a  faithful  heart — 

Congenial  with  mine  own, 
Whose  deep,  unchanging  love  shall  burn 

For  me,  and  me  alone. 

A  heart  in  sorrow's  cheerless  hour, 

To  soften  every  care  ; 
To  taste  with  me  the  sweets  of  life, 

A.nd  all  its  ills  to  share. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  195 

Thus  linked  by  friendship's  golden  chain, 

Ah !  who  more  blessed  than  we  ; 
Unruffled  as  the  pearly  stream, 

Our  halcyon  days  would  be. 


TO      JENNY      LIND. 

WE  ask  no  more  why  strains  like  thine 
Enchant  a  listening  throng, 

For  we  have  felt  in  one  sweet  hour 
The  magic  of  thy  song. 

How  like  the  carol  of  a  bird, 

It  stole  upon  the  ear ! 
Then  tenderly  it  died  away, 

In  echoes  soft  and  clear. 

But  hark!  again  its  music  breaks 

Harmonious  on  the  soul  ; 
How  thrills  the  heart,  at  every  tone, 

With  bliss  beyond  control ! 


MISCELLANEOUS, 

If  strains  like  these,  so  pure,  so 

To  mortal-  lips  be  given, 
What  must  trie  glorious  anthems  be 

Which  angels  wake  in  heaven  * 

Tis  past  I  'tis  gone  f  that  fairy  dream 

Of  happiness  is  o'er  ! 
And  we,  the  music  of  thy  voice 

Perhaps  may  hear  ao  more. 

Yet,  Sweden's  daughter,  thou  shalt  live 

In  every  grateful  heart, 
And  may  the  choicest  gifts  of  heavens 

Be  thine,  where'er  thou  art  I 


MISCELLANEOUS.  197 


RISE    AND   PROGRESS    OF   THE 
INSTITUTION     FOR     THE     BLIND 

COME,  gentle  muse  !  my  lay  inspire — 
Once  more  I  tune  my  slumbering  lyre, 
And  fain  would  touch  its  sweetest  string ; 
Aid  me,  oh !  aid  me,  while  I  sing. 
But  say  of  what  my  song  shall  be — 
Would'st  hear  a  plaintive  melody  ? 
Or  shall  I  wake  a  nobler  strain, 
Some  warlike  hero's  deeds  of  fame  ? 
Or  borne  on  fancy's  magic  wing, 
Fly  to  Castalia's  limpid  spring, 
Or  climb  Parnassus  and  behold 
Where  gods  and  goddesses  of  old 
Were  wont  in  fair  Elysian  bowers 
To  dwell  'midst  amaranthine  flowers  ? 
Or  sing  of  fair  Columbia  free, 
Our  own  bright  land  of  liberty, 
Where  o'er  full  many  a  patriot's  grave 

Doth  freedom's  spangled  banner  wave  ? 
9* 


198  MISCELLANEOUS, 

I  seek  no  dreams  of  fiction  now, 
Nor  wreaths  to  deck  a  warrior's  brow ; 
The  theme  my  happy  home  shall  be, 
Endeared  by  teuderest  ties  to  me. 
Here  many  a  rolling  year  has  flown, 
The  brightest  joys  I  e'er  have  known 
Here  have  I  felt,  nor  could  my  heart 
Endure  from  scenes  like  these  to  part. 
I  cannot  look  o'er  earth  abroad, 
And  view  the  wond'rous  works  of  God  ; 
The  distant  range  of  mountains  high, 
Whose  snow-capt  summits  reach  the  sky  ; 
The  landscape  in  its  robe  of  green, 
The  star-gemmed  firmament  serene  ; 
An  all-wise  Providence  divine 
Has  this  denied ; — shall  I  repine  ? 
God  bids  me  know  him  and  be  still, — 
I  bow  submissive  to  His  will. 

Reader,  permit  me  to  contrast 

Our  present  prospects  with  the  past, — 

And  if  the  simple  melody 

Hath  touched  a  chord  of  sympathy 

(Though  scarce  I  dare  to  hope  a  strain 

So  humble  would  thy  notice  claim), 


MISCELLANEOUS.  199 

Go,  gentle  reader,  back  with  me 

A  few  short  years,  and  thou  shalt  see 

The  blind  in  mental  darkness  left, 

To  grope  their  way  ;  full  many  reft 

Of  all  that  rendered  life  most  dear, 

Without  one  beam  of  hope  to  cheer 

Their  stricken  hearts ; — oh,  they  were  thrown 

Friendless  upon  the  world  alone. 

Touched  with  compassion  for  their  woes, 

A  philanthropic  few  arose, 

Resolved  to  educate  the  blind, 

And  throw  some  light  on  darkened  mind. 

This  work  begun — I  pass  along 
To  eighteen  hundred  thirty-one. 
Three  sightless  orphans  were  obtained, 
Their  confidence,  their  love  was  gained  ; 
Their  mental  progress  soon  repaid 
Their  teachers  for  each  effort  made. 
The  weeks  and  months  flew  quickly  past, 
The  public  eye  was  caught  at  last, 
By  such  success  in  efforts  new, 
For  they  could  scarce  believe  it  true, 
That  they  on  whom  the  orb  of  day 
Had  never  shed  its  golden  ray 


200  MISCELLANEOUS. 

By  touch  alone  were  taught  to  read  ; 
This  seemed  impossible  indeed. 

Their  numbers  rapidly  increased, 
And  soon  to  them  was  kindly  leased 
A  private  mansion,  and  around 
Old  trees  o'erspread  the  pleasure  ground. 
Here  first  upon  my  mental  sight 
Was  poured  instruction's  blessed  light, 
Ere  yet  this  sacred  pile  was  reared. 
Which  shall  for  ages  stand  revered. 
Close  to  this  spot  our  home  did  stand, 
And  we  were  but  a  little  band. 
Our  Managers  for  many  a  year 
Pursued  their  work  'twixt  hope  and  fear ; 
Though  countless  obstacles  they  met, 
Their  courage  failed  not — fails  not  yet. 
To  this  great  State  they  then  applied, 
Nor  was  her  timely  aid  denied  ; 
She  did  her  fostering  care  bestow — 
What  gratitude  to  her  we  owe  ! 
How  often  I  recall  that  day, 
When  faithful  friends  were  met  to  lay 
The  corner-stone  of  this  great  pile ; 
'Twas  winter — but  see  nature  smile 


MISCELLANEOUS.  201 

On  the  good  work ; — now  prayers  arise 

Like  holy  incense  to  the  skies ; 

In  holy  strains  a  choral  lay 

Closed  the  glad  service  of  the  day. 

Quickly  the  dreary  winter  passed, 

The  gentle  spring  returned  at  last ; 

Then  rapidly  the  work  progressed, 

And  God  from  heaven  beheld  and  blessed. 

The  summer  came  and  passed  away, 

And  autumn  clad  in  its  array 

Of  faded  charms,  each  vale  and  hill. 

The  voice  of  winter,  loud  and  shrill, 

Broke  on  our  ear  with  mournful  sound, 

And  in  its  icy  fetters  bound 

The  crystal  streams  ;  they  ceased  to  flow, 

And  nature  wore  a  garb  of  snow. 

'Twas  at  this  time,  with  sorrow  true, 

We  bade  our  much  loved  home  adieu ; 

For  oh !  its  time-worn  walls  had  long 

Resounded  with  our  joyous  song. 

We  saw  it  soon  in  ruin  laid, 

And  e'en  the  willow,  'neath  whose  shade 

We  often  sat,  or  gambolled  round, 

The  woodman's  axe  brought  to  the  ground. 

Thus  time  sped  on  with  rapid  flight; 
Now  with  emotions  of  delight, 


202  MISCELLANEOUS. 

This  noble  edifice  complete 

We  view,  and  in  its  dear  retreat 

The  friendless,  the  deserted  blind, 

Thank  heaven !  a  home  and  friends  can  find, 

Reader,  art  weary  of  my  lay  ? 

Or  would'st  our  happy  home  survey  ? 

Come  then,  I'll  thy  conductor  be, 

Enter  its  Gothic  walls  with  me. 

Mark  yonder  group !  can'st  thou  not  trace 

A  cheerful  smile  on  every  face, 

As  arm  in  arm  the  spacious  hall 

They  promenade  ?  and  sightless  all  ! 

Hark !  gently  bursting  on  thine  ear, 

The  voice  of  music,  soft  and  clear ; 
Now  mournfully  the  cadence  floats, 
And  now  it  swells  in  loftier  notes ; 
Methinks  thou  long  could'st  linger  here, 
But  to  the  school- room  we'll  repair. 
Here  for  a  moment  pause  and  view, 
As  they  their  various  tasks  pursue ; 
The  unclouded  brow,  the  glowing  cheek, 
Which  doth  the  heart's  own  language  speak. 
Let  solemn  awe  inspire  thy  breast, 
As  in  this  sacred  room  we  rest ; 
Here,  on  each  holy  Sabbath  day, 


MISCELLANEOUS.  203 

We  meet  to  praise  our  God  and  pray  ; 

His  ministers  of  every  name, 

The  gospel  messages  proclaim. 

Nor  do  we  worship  here  alone — 

To  all  our  doors  are  open  thrown ; 

Yes,  all  who  love  the  house  of  prayer, 

Are  cordially  invited  here. 

Now  fade  the  glorious  tints  of  day, 

The  setting  sun  its  dying  ray 

Sheds  softly  from  the  crimson  west, — 

See  from  this  point  the  Hudson's  breast ! 

Oh  !  gaze  upon  the  magic  scene — 

The  sky  all  cloudless  and  serene, 

The  mighty  river  onward  flowing, 

The  whole  face  of  nature  glowing — 

And  say,  should  not  our  home  be  dear  ? 

Ah,  who  could  not  be  happy  here  ? 

Sweet  thought !  the  blind  from  every  State 

May  in  its  joys  participate. 

And  now,  my  muse,  farewell  to  thee  ! 
Here  would  I  close  my  melody, 
And  leave  thee,  gentle  reader,  too, 
And  breathe  the  parting  word — adieu  ! 

THE    END. 


